


Holiday Seasons

by raven_aorla



Series: Time Out of Mind [4]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Fluff with Angst, Frank discussion of mental illness, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lots of queer characters, M/M, Many Holidays, Multi, Polyamory, Queer Character, Queerplatonic Relationships, Unconventional Relationship, angst with fluff, holiday fic, lots of unconventional relationships, psych ward au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6454093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year of holidays as celebrated by different clusters of Sharps Hour characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Halloween with the Madisons

**Author's Note:**

> Read Sharps Hour first. All others in the series are optional.
> 
> Chapter contains:  
> \- Fluff  
> \- Humor  
> \- Kidfic
> 
> Chapter warning:  
> \- Reference to panic attack, not detailed  
> \- Casual mentions of anxiety

Dear Dolley,

I'm fine, don't worry. Payne's at the Halloween party in the Montpelier Elementary gym. Our next door neighbors have agreed to give him a ride home. He's friends with their twin daughters, I've learned. I missed a lot of social happenings while I was inpatient.

I'm...Okay, I'm going to give you some context first. 

I know I said I could take him out trick-or-treating since you wouldn't get home from the symposium in time and I was sure my meeting would end early enough. I know I said I should be fine because the neighborhood's agreed that 0-7 year olds should trick-or-treat when it's still light out and I handle stuff better when it's bright. I know you were lovingly skeptical. 

The thing I forgot was that Payne has learned to accommodate me. Other children don't know not to get into my "invisible bubble" without asking, and to wash their hands after they eat or touch dirty things, or that I can't step over curbs. I take for granted how much you've taught him and how good he is at following, even when he's fast-and-loose with bedtimes and putting away his toys. 

I put on my Mickey Mouse ears to complement his full Mickey Mouse getup (you outdid yourself this year, babydoll, it looks better than storebought). Then I looked out the window, saw the chaotic and sticky horde, and promptly had a panic attack.

Payne ran over with my inhaler. He was crestfallen when he realized it was the other kind of breathing problem. I sat down, followed usual procedure, but I think it compounded with shame and got worse. Then I actually did need the inhaler. Our kid is pretty great.

Before I knew it, Payne was letting Thomas into the house. Apparently this counts as the sort of emergency Thomas' phone number and spare key are for. According to them, anyway. How did our time at Vernon together take my pre-hospitalization casual friend and turn him into whatever this is?

Thomas entered wearing a tiger onesie. 

Given that he lives twenty minutes away, these are the possibilities, in ascending likelihood given the circumstances and our knowledge of his personality : 

a. He was at home or near it, got the call, impulsively purchased a tiger onesie, put it on, drove here. Timeframe may not be possible.

b. He already owned the tiger onesie, located the tiger onesie, donned it, drove here.

c. As above, but he was already wearing the onesie.

d. He was lurking near our home, in a tiger onesie, because someone may have told him that I might fall down at the critical moment.

I'm being harsh. He was a big help and took Payne on a two-block circuit, returning with an alarming amount of candy. We separated boy and loot, not without protest. Thomas drove because I was feeling drained, but I walked Payne in to keep questions at a minimum.

Looks like Thomas has gotten the worst of the caramel out of his fur. We're going to the basement to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas and drink every time someone says "Jack". Twice if it's sung. Small sips of beer alternating with water, I promise. Thomas is fine with the couch if he's unfit to drive. 

What's left of the casserole is back in the fridge. There is also a salad, made by what I've been told to call "an incredibly terrifying tiger".

XOXO 

Jemmy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Daveed, dressed as an oddly suave tiger, helps reenact Calvin & Hobbes strips.](http://youtu.be/Sx68TPu4dCk)  
>   
> 
> [Oak sings "Defying Gravity" in the voice of Mickey Mouse.](http://youtu.be/07F-PyCoFKU)
> 
>  
> 
> Dolley, why'd you have to name your son JOHN?  
> eta: Thank you to LizzieRH for providing the solution.


	2. Guy Fawkes Night with the Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have seen this annoncement, but: as of first uploading, this prewritten ficlet is serving as a consolation for the last chapter of Sharps Hour being delayed. I wrote it when I was inspired and actually had time and spoons, but didn't post it because I want the holidays to be chronological. 
> 
> Though none of the sequels are dependent on each other, this is inspired by some of the ideas and characterization from the first chapter of Departure Days.
> 
> Chapter tags:  
> \- Angst with some fluff  
> \- Kidfic  
> \- History not of my country being explained by someone not at his best to a small child not at her most informed.  
> \- Symbolism ahoy!
> 
> Chapter warnings:  
> \- Mild-to-moderate overmedication of a more-or-less consensual nature  
> \- Loopy, dreamlike POV  
> \- Vague references to harming self and others  
> \- Historical end note is really sad

He's not playing favorites. It's just that Amelia is the youngest. She's so young that she's never known a father who didn't need medicine and hospitals. Who could be relied on. Who didn't need to hide in his room sometimes, only Mum and doctors visiting. Who could simply be there. Like a proper dad. 

The others can remember the years when George King III had a career. Power. Respect. Almost no hallucinations. Far fewer unacceptable urges. Amelia has been cheated out of that. Which means that when he's at home and having a good day, she's the one he gravitates towards.

She's also the one who was born in America, so this is her first bonfire night. After settling George into a two-month inpatient program at an extremely respected psychiatric hospital, Charlotte went back for the children. Right now George is "partially hospitalized", which means going there for treatment and supervision every day, but he gets to sleep at home. 

He came home a little early for the occasion. They're having a picnic on the grass, among all the people who paid admission to the event. The ticket proceeds are going to charity, Charlotte said. He can't remember what charity. Charlotte likes the charity. She likes a lot of charities. 

Two separate picnics for the Kings. George and Amelia are seated much further away from the bonfire than the others in the family.

His current medications keep the hallucinations to a minimum. More importantly, they quiet his unacceptable urges and help him push them away. _(no, mind, I won't break that) (no, mind, Charlotte would say that's cruel) (no, mind, skin stays whole, whether mine or others')_

They make him fuzzy, though. Put him in a fog. Sometimes he feels underwater.

The bonfire is bright. So's his little daughter. She's discovered she likes Hobnob biscuits. He discreetly hides the rest of the packet so she doesn't eat all of them.

"Daddy, I want you to call me Emily."

"If you like, but why?"

"There's a show called Doctor Who and all the kids at school know it."

"I used to watch it. The aliens frightened me when I was your age." After he'd started seeing aliens of his own, he couldn't enjoy the BBC ones.

"I've started watching but there's a lot of it, even if you start with Nine and Rose. But there's a girl called Amelia and people make jokes. They already make jokes about how I sound American. So I'm trying to get people to call me Emily."

 _Thank God your schoolmates don't know about me. Especially about why we had to return to London._ "I'll try to remember."

"Sometimes you don't remember things. Or you remember wrong things."

"That's true. I'll write it down."

The Uni lads are showing off the Guy they made. Old football for head, old clothes, a scarecrow, an effigy. He's not sure what they're saying. He has to really concentrate on what people say if they aren't directly addressing him. But he rarely hears those ghost whispers anymore. He doesn't see as many shadows and horrors. Fair trade.

"Daddy..."

"Yes, Emily?"

Such a pretty smile. It hadn't come from his side of the family, it couldn't have. Then it fades. Tragically. That shouldn't be allowed. "Mum doesn't let you near fires."

"She's not letting you near that one today."

"Yeah, but I'm getting over a cough and smoke is bad for coughs. You're never allowed near fires. Or knives that aren't butter knives. Or scissors. You don't get to shave by yourself. You can't drive. Sometimes you're fine but sometimes you're all sleepy and other times you go away and we don't get to see you for weeks -"

George pulls her into his arms. "My brain has..."

"Problems. I know. Mum says." She sniffles into his chest.

"Sometimes I do bad things. Sometimes I'm not doing bad things, but it's hard for me to do anything right because I'm confused and scared. Then I go away until I'm better. All the things I'm not allowed to do are in case I suddenly get sick again."

"Uh huh." She's unconvinced, but he doesn't know what else to say.

He steers her a little so that he can continue holding her while she watches the bonfire. The fireworks are coming soon. "Did they teach you in school what Guy Fawkes did?"

"Tried to blow up Parliament and kill the king." She sighed. "Everyone else knew."

"I bet they don't know maths as well as you do." 

"You're right. But I felt shy and I didn't want to ask why he wanted to kill the king."

"Kings, queens, dictators, people like that can cause problems for their countries. Especially when they like some people more than they like other people."

"We have a Queen."

"Yes, but she's not an 'absolute' monarch. Everyone has to do what an absolute monarch says. Also she leaves Catholics alone."

"The Queen gives speeches and waves."

 _Don't laugh. It would hurt her feelings._ "Essentially. We don't have to do what she says. We have a Prime Minister who has to do what we say. At least that's the idea." _Ideas. The idea was that your uncle wasn't supposed to usurp me, no matter what he calls it, simply because I made a few mistakes. That's how much you can rely on ideas._

She's looking at his face, worried. 

_Smile, smile._ Who is he directing?

Seeing Daddy smile gets her talking again. "Why do we still have a Queen if we don't have to do what she says anymore?"

George Frederick King III brushes a speck of something off his daughter's cheek. She gets rashes so easily. "It's unkind to take someone's job from them completely, or make them useless. It's better if there's something they can still do."

"Can you tell everyone to call me Emily? Mum might think it's ridiculous."

"You underestimate your mother's tolerance for ridiculousness. I can. I will."

"Yay." She burrows against him. The fireworks begin. Together they watch the bursts of color and light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess Amelia was George III's youngest, and in many ways favorite child. He called her Emily. She was five years old when he suffered his first bout of "madness". She died at 27. Afterwards, when undergoing what passed for treatment in those days, he was known to cry out, "Emily, save me! I hate these physicians!'. He also periodically suffered from the delusion that she was alive and happy with relatives in Hanover. ;_;
> 
> This version survives to an old age, and his love for her makes him a better person. I promise.
> 
> Crosspost: I've messed with the "line of succession" because this version of George IV is too young to take over for his dad.


	3. Thanksgiving with Lewis & Co.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Sharps Hour I spelled her name "Sacagewea", but I've learned that "Sacagawea" is the more common spelling. So I've switched. At least I'm not spelling it 8 different ways like Historical Lewis did.
> 
> Not every chapter in this fic will have a cute kid in it, I swear. Somehow three of them have clustered together. 
> 
> Warning for: Reference to Suicidal Ideation/Planning

It's a brisk, clear day, and Shenandoah National Park is dizzyingly gorgeous. The trees are having their last shout before their long sleep. Sacagawea had insisted on Lewis not bringing a sketchbook or even a camera. 

_Don't observe today. Look. Watch. Be. If J.B. does something cute, I can use my phone camera. I know you can't always be happy, but being present is worth something too._

They don't have the park completely to themselves - it's hard to have a truly original celebration - but for much of the hike it's only their little party.

"I'm tired, Mommy." J.B. reaches up expectantly.

"You're too old for me to carry you on my back everywhere," Sacagawea replies. "We'll be there soon."

Lewis tilts his head. "I bet you're not as tired as you think you are."

"Yes, I am!"

"If you can get to the tree with red leaves that hangs over the stream before I do, I'll carry you the rest of the way myself."

"Okay!" 

As he expected, J.B. beats him easily. He was feeling cranky, that's all. Lewis can sympathize.

Joke's on the kid, though: the picnic site is less than ten feet away. J.B. is about to express his shock and betrayal but ends up being distracted by a squirrel burying acorns. He climbs onto one of the benches to get a better look.

"So no political protests this year?" Lewis asks Sacagawea, who's caught up. She did track for Idaho State and isn't out of breath. She's still young, too. She was barely out of her teens on that National Park Tour/Research Mission/Publicity Stunt. 

Back when things were simple. Back when his only significant discontent came from inside his own head.

"J.B.'s old enough to start caring about what other families do. He came home from kindergarten asking why he's got three uncles but no daddy, and why only one of the uncles looks like him. I'm going to do a spectacular protest come Columbus Day, though, no worries. Today we're honoring the part of Thanksgiving that's about glossing over past misdeeds and just trying to have a nice meal."

"Speaking of." Lewis walks a few steps back on their path and peeks around the bend. "Clark, you doing okay?"

"Fine! I got a text message. I don't like walking and texting."

"Only, you're the one who volunteered to carry the food."

"On my way!"

By the time Clark reaches them, Lewis has explained to J.B. how squirrels are capable of deception (merely pretending to bury acorns while other squirrels are watching, to foil theft). Sacagawea has carefully removed a daddy-long-legs from her pant leg. Whenever Lewis tries that he's scared of damaging one of their legs. Same with spiders. This is absolutely the only reason whatsoever he lets John Laurens take on the responsibility of relocating office spiders. Laurens has a light touch.

Sacagawea spots that J.B. has somehow acquired a splinter without noticing, and must deploy Emergency Momness. "You go help Clark set up."

Tablecloth, because it's slightly more hygienic and the leaf pattern is festive, check. Reusable picnic tableware, because environment, check. Cold turkey, carrot sticks, cherry tomatoes, potato chips, and cornbread, because none of them give a damn and this is close enough, check. Sparkling cider because it's pretty and Lewis cherishes his hard-won sobriety, check.

Fidgety, cautious feelings on the mend, check.

"Who texted?" Lewis asks as he takes a seat next to Clark. Sacagawea will need to sit across from them, next to J.B., to prevent him from trying to start food fights. It's his new thing. A few weeks ago his great passion was paper airplanes, regardless of time and place. 

Clark sighs. "Meriwether. He's unsatisfied with Mom's explanation of why I'm not joining them, and why I haven't been around in general. Also he's confused why he's getting pressure to start going by his middle name."

Lewis cringes. After Clark 'fessed up to having a lovechild on the Nez Perce Reservation, his wife did the math and realized he must have cheated before their wedding but after they started dating. She's angry at Lewis for keeping his knowledge of the infidelity to himself until he needed it as 'political ammunition'. Which is fair. 

_Promise me you won't tell her, Lewis. I love her. You know I do. It was one time. A mistake. A moment. Nobody needs to know._

She's angry about her oldest child having Lewis' "stupid first name". Which is unfair. He'd tried very hard to dissuade both parents from the start. 

Also she's angry at Sacagawea for not being as angry. Which is extremely unfair.

"What'd you text back?"

"'I'm sorry, I love you.' Want a plate?"

"Sure, thanks." What else is there to say?

Sacagawea waves and shouts, "J.B. needs to use a toilet! Be back soon! You guys play nice!"

For what seems like a very long time, all they hear are birds.

The silence becomes unbearable. "I think this is the first time she's left us alone together, ever since..."

Clark slams his fist on the table. "Goddammit, Lewis, you do not get to pull a stunt like that again. You hear me?"

This silence is even worse. Eventually Lewis says, "I didn't buy the gun and write those notes out of spite or something."

"I know. I..." Clark's been apologetic during the few mediated meetings they've had since Lewis left Vernon. He's never been raw like this. Shaking. A catch in his voice. Looking not at Lewis, but a fixed point in the space in front of him. "I know it wasn't necessarily _about_ me. But knowing that it was at least partly _because_ of me - why do you think I came clean, damaging my reputation and most likely blowing up my marriage?"

 _You're the one who lit the fuse a long time ago. But you are in pain, and you're reaching out, and that is a gift I won't turn down._ "Why do you think I've spent so much time learning how to handle being by your side again?"

"Mm."

Birds can be surprisingly loud on a November afternoon.

"Did you bring a bottle opener?"

"It's a screw cap. Let's wait. Leave it in the cooler. J.B. might get a kick out of the pop and fizz sounds."

"Good call."

Clark clears his throat. "Thank you for keeping your, uh, actions quiet. And your subsequent hospitalization. I don't think my career would have recovered from the media screaming that I drove you to it."

"As I said, I wasn't acting out of spite." Lewis starts laying out paper napkins and cutlery, to have something to do with his hands. "Have you had any contact with your Nez Perce son?"

"His mother's agreed to postcards, maybe some phone calls, in exchange for contributions to his college fund. I understand her reluctance. Andrew Jackson managed to stymie the reservation's civil suit already. Yes, with my help and despite your and Sacagawea's hindrance. I can't undo that. Cup?"

"Sure. I admit I'm not blameless. I could have opposed the matter more...graciously. Level-headedly. You know about me and melodrama. I either curl up and weep or I rush in with guns blazing. Do me a favor, though. Don't keep doing stuff solely because Jackson expects it and he's kind of terrifying." Lewis can see the other two on their way back. Time to return to light conversation.

They all have good appetites by now, and it's a full two minutes before J.B. pauses long enough to say something. "It was a long drive to get here. Long drive. Long long long drive." 

Sacagawea is pinching off and eating one bit of her cornbread at a time. No one will ever know why. "That's why we're staying at Auntie Otter's house tonight before we drive back. And don't talk with your mouth full."

"Yesh Moam," J.B. says, with his mouth full. She sighs and leans down to quietly explain her reasoning.

"How's work going with your new PA/apprentice?" Clark asks. He always goes for turkey breast. Dry, boring turkey breast. "Chunk of drumstick?"

"Thanks. It's going pretty well. We're still figuring each other out." Laurens is very patient and intelligent, but also insecure and a bit too in awe of Lewis. They're working on it. Lewis meanwhile needs to overcome his fear of trying new things. He knows that if he stops resisting and lets Laurens teach him how to use a digital drawing tablet, it will significantly improve his speed and versatility. (Lewis calls him 'John' to his face, because that's John's preference, but he says 'Laurens' in his head thanks to having previously employed John Pernia.)

Sacagawea rejoins the adult conversation. "Glad to hear that. I have this irrational worry that I'm going to stop by, and either you'll both be lying facedown on the floor and bemoaning existence, or I'll walk in on you and him..."

Clark raises his eyebrows and gestures in J.B.'s direction. 

She nods in a 'what do you take me for?' sort of way. "...Kissing."

"You kiss men, Uncle Lou?" J.B. asks. He doesn't seem hugely invested in the answer, just making smalltalk. A baby carrot that is much larger than the other baby carrots is easily as fascinating, and it has the advantage of being right in front of him.

Lewis' heart speeds up a little, but he answers as casually as he was asked. "Sometimes. Sometimes I kiss women. Only people I know really well, though. And not ones who work for me." Or have major depression and a past that includes workplace harrassment, ye gods. (They'd laid their demons out on the table for each other, so they wouldn't trip over them later.)

"Why don't you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" J.B. is holding the normal-sized baby carrots against the atypically big baby carrot. A toddler carrot, perhaps. To compare. He has good scientific instincts.

"Because I don't want one. I never want one."

J.B. looks up and nods in empathy. "I never want one either. Oh, oh, why do flies like poop?"

"All food has good things in it that our bodies need, called nutrients. Different animals need different nutrients. Flies don't need all the same ones as humans do, for example. When you eat, your body takes out the nutrients you need from the food, and then..."

"Let's talk about this stuff after lunch. Let Uncle Lou finish what's on his plate." Sacagawea facepalms in Lewis' general direction. He shrugs.

"Kay."

Clark engages J.B. in a discussion regarding sandbox etiquette. J.B. has strong feelings about sharing the schoolyard plastic shovel, and about kids who don't. 

When they get to the caramel-popcorn-and-pumpkin-seed chocolate brittle, J.B. pipes up, "Mommy said you two got mad at each other, and you both had to go to grownup time-out for a month before you could be friends again. That's a long time."

"Grownup time-outs can be very long, yes," Clark says.

"Wow. But you're friends again, right? Right?" He's got chocolate all over his face. No one is surprised. In fact, all the adults brought wet wipes.

Clark and Sacagawea both look at Lewis. Is he supposed to judge the situation? He hadn't signed up for that. However...

"Yes. Yes, we're friends. You and your mother are right on the money."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idaho State teaches Shoshone language classes, isn't that cool?
> 
> This AU's version of Meriwether Lewis identifies as aromantic demi-pansexual, which he complains is both complicated and inconvenient. 
> 
> Why are Sharps Hour characters so multifaceted in romantic and sexual orientation? Because people are, and it doesn't show up much in media. Also because I can.


	4. Christmas Eve with Found Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If chapter 10 of Break Room Moments broke your heart, this h/c will help. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, no worries. Enjoy the fresh plot twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:
> 
> \- Mentioned past eating disorder
> 
> \- Vague reference to self-harm
> 
> \- Discussion of Henry Laurens having done shitty things (in this case verbal/emotional abuse, gaslighting, homophobia, racism against his own mixed-race kids, and being a lying liar who lies)
> 
> However, this is a fix-it type, hurt/comfort ficlet, k?

She's not only intimidated by the enormity of what she's decided to do. She's also intimidated by Doctor Washington himself. He's not a mean man, and he sometimes leaves dry remarks under the nickname "Mufasa" in the break room for the staff to enjoy. He comes across as so serious, though. Authoritative. Tall. 

She runs after him anyway, out the doors of Vernon Psychiatric Crisis Center, only one arm through a coat sleeve. "Doctor Washington! Please! Just a minute!"

He stops on the path to the employee parking lot, through the manicured scraps of lawn gone brown with Virginia winter. "Yes?"

"I don't know if we've met face to face - I sign myself as 'Martha the Tech' on the break room whiteboard - sorry to be a bother."

"What can I do for you?" He turns slightly. Someone should carve his face on a mountainside to watch over the confused and wavering, a face like that.

"My last name is Laurens."

He faces her full-on, eyebrows raised a millimeter or two. "Ah."

"My, uh, uh, he didn't, when he was here, after he attempted suicide, he didn't recognize me and I didn't know how to say it. But it's Christmas Eve, and I know he got close to Alexander, and you were Alexander's foster father so maybe, maybe, like, do you have my brother's phone number?"

"A Christmas Eve phone call is a good notion, a very good one. But I'd prefer not to give you your brother's phone number..." She must have gone super pale or tearful or something, because Washington hurries through the rest of the sentence. "...As he's currently in my living room being cajoled into arts and crafts, and that seems inefficient."

"Oh." She still hasn't put her coat on properly.

"If you're available, I think you should come with me. It's about twenty minutes in good traffic. Correction: I strongly believe you should come with me. Do you need help with your sleeves?"

She can't stop trembling in the car. Washington asks if she's cold. She truthfully tells him no. Then he asks if she wants to talk about it. When she declines, he asks if he can turn on a classical music station. She's fine with that.

It's a big house with a big driveway, but tasteful. With eaves and trees and things. A big ornamental pond under a balcony. Old-money house. Like her father has, if he still does. She regrets having to cut herself off from the majority of the Laurens clan, but she doesn't regret having done so.

Like almost all the staff who worked today, Washington is leaving after half his usual hours on the job. She took an earlier shift as well as reducing her hours. There are only two patients who haven't been signed out from Men's First Floor Ward for tonight and tomorrow. It's small enough number that regulations permit two Red Cross certified techs on night shift rather than one nurse and one tech. 

Cato and Israel are probably thrilled to finally be on duty at the same time. They can rarely catch a waking moment together. They're so cute. She's jealous.

This means it's still bright outside. She timidly follows in Washington's wake, feeling like an ugly duckling trying her chances with a new flock. Though her brother's probably been in that situation for a lot longer.

Glad cries greet them as they enter, though nobody's in her line of sight yet. 

"Hello, George." (unfamiliar, feminine)

"Yo!" (Alexander)

"Bonsoir, George." (unfamiliar, French accent, feminine)

"MON GENERALE!" (Lafayette)

"Hi, Doctor Wash." (oh god oh god oh god)

Washington removes his boot and coat, and announces with startling casualness, "I brought someone home from work, if we can set another place for dinner."

"Of course, honey, but I need to talk to you for a minute," calls the American-accented female voice, somewhere down the hall.

Washington glances at his newest guest, sees she isn't hyperventilating, and goes to join (presumably) his wife. He provides a brief thumbs-up as a parting boost.

"Excellent, because Gilbert and Alexander made too much bouillabaisse. It is simple for me to increase the dessert. Welcome!" The Frenchwoman again. She smiles at the newcomer, rises from the huge multisection couch, and heads for the kitchen.

"I put the tapioca back in the cupboard, but I believe you can find it." Lafayette turns and waves briskly. "Joyeux Noel! Your face is known to me, but your name escapes."

Alexander is sitting next to Lafayette, winding yarn into a huge ball. "Nice to see you, Tech Martha. I stand by my conviction that it would be a crying shame not to fill up that slow cooker after I spent all that time fighting with shrimp shells."

"Technically they're exoskeletons. Crustaceans are, like, juicy sea bugs." Her brother's hands are held out in front of him, acting as a spreader for the skein of yarn Alexander is turning spherical. He's settled against the cushions in a comfy sweater, penguin-pattern socks, and scruffy jeans.

He looks so happy. He looks happy even though he's not actively smiling, that level of bone-deep happiness. From after they lost their mother until he disappeared from the Laurens household, the best he could do, at least in front of her, was look reasonably consoled.

"I'm here to see Jack," she says.

He goes rigid. He looks right at her, but without meeting her eyes. Everyone else stares at her too. It's like being under stage lights. No, halogen lights, or whatever the kind is used for growing things when they can't reach sun.

She feels like she's falling. She feels like her words are plummeting ahead of her, but she's reached maximum velocity and can't catch up."I finally got help for the bulimia, Jack, like you kept begging. I think I've gained about thirty pounds since I last saw you. My doctor says it's what I needed. And I started wearing glasses. You need to believe that Dad lied to us. I wouldn't have - I wouldn't...how was I supposed to spell things out for you when you'd just shot yourself? And almost did it fatally? How I was I supposed to begin?" 

Lafayette silently holds out his hands and Jack transfers the yarn to her. Jack gets up. His voice cracks. "Missy?"

"He called me that, you know," Missy tells the room, with a pained giggle. "His best friend was named Martha, too. He gave us nicknames. Martha's a common name. It's such a common name. It's SUCH a common name."

Now Jack's arms are around her, clinging, desperate."I'm such an idiot, Missy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just walked right past you, that must have hurt so much. Sorrysorrysorry... _Mi español es malo ahora..._ "

His old Southern accent is slipping into his words. She thought it was gone forever, as she watched over him in the ward, but it was simply waiting. Waiting for someone who'd recognize it. 

"Shit, Jack, that's not something worth beating yourself up about. Mine took a nosedive, too, after home was decreed English-only. I've been taking classes to bring it back up. Dad told us you got busted selling drugs and went to jail and we were all forbidden to visit. I remember that night. I just might regret that night for the rest of my days. I BELIEVED his STUPID story. For YEARS."

"He always makes you feel crazy for trying to disagree with him, spins you around so you believe he has to be right. Don't feel bad for that. You were a high school junior. A scared one."

"Don't feel bad for having a FRICKIN GUNSHOT WOUND make you SLIGHTLY LESS OBSERVANT of a RIDICULOUS COINCIDENCE."

Lafayette asks, gently, "Would you like us to give you some privacy?"

"There's a lot of capslock talk going on," Alexander adds.

"Is it okay if they stay, Missy? I don't, uh...I manage better when those two are nearby."

"That's fine." She doesn't think she's crying. She's got tears sliding down her face anyway. _I'm leaking. I knew I wasn't whole._ "Dad got so much nastier after you went away. I don't think it was only anger or disappointment. I think once he didn't have you to be his emotional stress ball he had to redistribute it. I think I could only pull free because I remember Mami well. That it shouldn't be like that. That it doesn't have to."

"Our mother went quick." Dad pressured Jack to call Mami "Mother," or at least "Mom" (juvenile but acceptable). Missy got away with more because she wasn't the eldest son. She wasn't the one who was supposed to be Henry Laurens' idea of a perfect child.

"One day last February he said I should stop "so overtly presenting yourself as Hispanic; it's holding you back", and I hurled years of pent-up rage at him and severed our ties. It's probably good I didn't know he threw you out for not being straight, because I might have physically hurt him. That's what it was, right? Sally told me you and Alexander and Pierre called yourselves 'The Queer Trio' when you did a musical number for Lafayette's birthday."

Jack withdraws from their embrace. He stares at the floor. Wait, no, he was happy before she started talking, now she's making things worse. "I came out to him, Missy, knowing he'd probably cut me off, without thinking about what that'd mean for you. I was so selfish."

"Halt! _Non!_ False! I object!" Lafayette flings the skein of yarn away and leaps to their side. "John, yet again your self-hatred makes you remember wrongly. I was with your brother when he made the phone call, Miss Martha. He spoke of you in the hours before and in the days before, and of everyone else in your family he loved without fear. He agonized. It wasn't something you did lightly, John. Do not let your chemical imbalances make you believe so!"

This time Jack doesn't so much hug her as wilt into her. Now she's crying. Making sounds and everything. Is he crying too? He never used to cry. He used to go away for a few hours, and come back either weak with exhaustion or wearing a long-sleeved shirt and fingerless gloves. No matter how hot it was outside. Their brothers seemed oblivious. Missy would feel bile rise up in her throat.

She does now, a bit, but she's learned to let it subside. "I shouldn't have come. You were having a nice time and now you're hurting."

This time, he steps back and looks her in the eye. "Taking a splinter out hurts. You're never gonna heal until you do. Stay for dinner. At the very least. Please."

"You can help me untangle the mess Lafayette made out of my beautiful merino wool because of his flair for the dramatic," Alexander suggests. He waves a box of tissues in their direction.

Dreamlike, she comes to accept the bizarre situation of her untangling purple-and-pink yarn that Alexander will make into a hat for his girlfriend, who's been slowly adding more femme accessories to her wardrobe. He's already finished his boyfriend's scarf. He sounds a lot more subdued than he did when he was discharged from Vernon, she tells him. He gives her a half-smile and describes himself as on a manageable downturn. Crocheting helps.

Lafayette says that if the situation is "good in hand", he shouldn't leave Adrienne to do all the work. Besides, he needs to check on their molasses and brown sugar supplies for after-dinner baking. He has a scheme to incorporate crystallized ginger bits.

Jack has cautiously put his head on her shoulder and cuddles the plush manatee he retrieved from under a throw blanket. Dreamlike, he throws out questions and statements from time to time, speaking slowly and without aim.

He tells her he was estranged from Martha "Martian" Manning for several years, for reasons he'll explain later, but he's recently mended fences with her, too.

He asks after their brothers and sighs at the answer: the good little boys are toeing the line, no matter her efforts, and she didn't tell them about Jack for fear of them snitching.

He tells her Alexander insists on setting him up with some guy called Ned to go dancing on New Year's Eve. (Alexander manages an evil laugh.)

He summarizes his job for her, along with his online coursework. She's glad the job's going well. Lewis had been nice to her and Jack really hit it off with him. She hopes they don't drag each other down mood-disorder-wise.

Does he hang out with anyone else from his hospitalization? Yes. Pierre, sometimes. Very occasionally Friedrich if he comes to pick Pierre up.

(Lafayette wanders back and clarifies that sometimes this is literal. "Over his shoulder. In the manner of a caveman.")

(Adrienne wanders back as well, and further clarifies, "Gilbert prefers to pick Pierre up as though he was his bride, not I. Pierre is not large." Her smile rivals Mona Lisa's for subtle impishness.)

The Washingtons tiptoe back out to the living room. Martha Washington (oh dear) introduces herself. George Washington is now wearing corduroy pants and a pullover, which is still more formal than everyone else but less formal than she's ever seen him. Martha's children, George's stepchildren, are spending tonight with other loved ones, but they are represented by several of the presents under the tree.

The conversation becomes a group conversation. A light one. Sometimes she tunes it out, concentrating on Jack breathing next to her, sneaking glances at his lively face and bright eyes. Even if they're a tad red and the surrounding skin slightly puffy.

Suddenly he gasps and everyone stops talking. Her heartbeat holds position in case it needs to go wild again. 

"Thomas Jefferson HIT on MY SISTER."

She can't help it. She laughs. 

Eventually it's time for dinner. She weakly protests that she doesn't want to impose. That she has a World of Warcraft raid to lead. As if her excuse would convince anyone for two seconds. Especially after they learn it's her first Christmas Eve not returning to South Carolina, and she has no plans with anyone.

"Aw c'mon, you came all this way. Take a break." Alexander puts the newly finished yarn ball aside and ushers both Laurenses in the the dining room.

There is the French seafood stew, accompanied by freshly baked bread, some soda Alexander brought that he remembers from his childhood in Puerto Rico, and a Senegalese pudding for dessert. (Adrienne's parents will be flying from Paris into DC later this week, but tonight she's using this as a reminder of them.)

"It's a mishmash, but I'm sure it will come together nicely," Washington comments.

There's some discussion over whether the neither-religiously-nor-culturally-Christian couple in their midst will feel uncomfortable if Washington says grace. Adrienne says it's fine. Lafayette adds, "Baha'i faithful find great wisdom in Christianity, when loving and sincere. Also, neither of us are very good Baha'i, so this is the least worrisome thing for our relevant relatives if they knew." Missy thought about Lafayette kissing Pierre in the music therapy room and yeah, she coukd see that.

Washington bows his head, closes his eyes, and folds his hands together. So does Martha Washington. Jack doesn't close his eyes. Alexander doesn't close his eyes or bow his head. The French couple close their eyes and bow their heads but don't fold their hands. Missy's not sure what significance all these variations may have, so she folds her hands without doing any of the other things. To complete the set.

_"Thank you for the lessons we have learned. Thank you for the hard-won wisdom we have earned. Let none of us - especially two of us - be afraid, safe in this family we have made."_


	5. Christmas with the Jeffersons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real Thomas Jefferson had a pet mockingbird named Dick. However, you can no longer keep wild birds with the same impunity, so I gave this one an alternative.

_KNOCK KNOCk knock knock KNOCK._ "Patsyyyyyyyyy, it's Christmaaaaas..."

Inarticulate groans come from inside her bedroom. Hmph. I feel like I've been more than patient.

(The floor is permeable and I am not quite solid this morning. Holidays are hard. I need to not be alone right now. I need her solidity. There used to be more of us. She's the only one left now. I need to see her, but I need to keep it light.)

"I checked the temperature outside and the pH of the garden soil, and I fed Dictionary and Thesaurus and let them fly around and climb things, and I went for a swim, and I followed the cook's instructions and put the _pain au chocolat_ in the oven, and yet. You are defying the Christmas morning parent-child stereotype, Martha Jefferson Junior."

The door clicks open and her lovely, grumpy face looks up at me. She's tall for her age but puberty hasn't accelerated her whole heightening process yet. Her reddish-brown hair sticks up at glorious angles. Just like mine did before it darkened and stopped surprising people (you don't have to be lily-white to have red hair, folks). Her pajamas have "ninjabread men" on them, wreaking havoc and cookie carnage.

"It's 7:30, Dad."

"Your point being?"

"My classmates think I make up all my stories about you." Patsy's in a good school off in the countryside. I see her most weekends and major holidays. I can't afford to be her only parental figure and thus screw my daughter up, even if my therapist says he highly doubts it would, even if he says I would put her first and it would be enough.

I offer my arm. "The man, the myth, the legend."

She giggles in that slightly derisive, but mostly affectionate, way I've only seen in tweens. "Maybe let me have coffee?" Takes my arm.

We head for downstairs. "You may have coffee tomorrow if you try a freezing cold shower today and let me test your relative alertness after each. For science. Or if you sufficiently butter me up, probably, but it had better be an exceptional job." 

Sometimes I wonder why I need such a huge-ass staircase, but then I look at the banisters. These banisters are art and poetry. Look at the finicky carvings. When I'm in a mood, sometimes I walk around my house and pretend I'm seeing all the decor for the first time. I need to cut back but antique stores _sing_ to me, know what I'm saying?

"I don't like how you redid the dining room. It looks like you're Mr. Late-80s." She smirks and scampers for the kitchen.

I cheerfully call after, "I don't like your concept of what 'buttering me up' entails. No coffee for you. Or wine. You didn't even see the 80s. How'd you know?" 

"I've seen Breakfast Club! And the original Karate Kid, and Robocop, and...the Rocky movies!" There's a lot of clattering going on, but it's fine. She doesn't break things.

I'm not sure if Breakfast Club is 80s. Either way, I feel old. "And while watching those action-packed flicks, you paid attention to the dining room paint jobs and accents?" 

"Out of self-defense." Patsy finds her favorite tray to put breakfast things on and places it on the counter. She peeks inside the oven. "Professor Madison told me that you don't drink too much, you just drink too expensively."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Dolley's become such cronies with Patsy that it's both sweet and terrifying. 

"She also told me that mulled wine might be a Christmas tradition, but it isn't usually made with imported decades-old French vintages."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Let's have cocoa together, Daddy. Yay!" She smiles. And I'm helpless. And she knows that, little minx; she was counting on it.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, so while she's busy with her cute and meddlesome beverages I make my way to the Parrot Room. Dic and Thesa - we don't know their sexes, but Patsy named them and assigned their pronouns - are happily shredding something. Oh, look, it's Alexander Hamilton's letter to the New York Post attacking my editorial on Harriet Tubman. Fancy that.

Anyway, I signal for each of them to poop. It's much easier to train them to do it preemptively than train them to hold it, and also much more effective for chasing away guests I've gotten tired of. The signal's a specific but not obvious gesture and hum, so I can pass it off as an accident. Then I offer each of them a hand and they climb on.

The caiques really like to "help" unwrap things. I somehow raised one of those people who tries to remove giftwrap neatly for a hypothetical future use. She gets so serious about it and forgets to have fun. It's hard to stay serious when you have a 2-parrot demolition crew.

Patsy and I meet in the den, she with a mug in each hand, I with a parrot nominally in each hand. Thesa probably has intentions of scaling my sweater beak-over-foot and is edging up my sleeve.

"Cocoa for you," she says, placing it on the coffee table.

"Coaster! Use a coaster! Also, take Thesa. She likes chewing my hair now. Dic's the good birdie. Who's the good birdie? He's the good birdie." 

"Gee, thanks." Patsy does, though, and we settle onto the couch and contemplate the tree. I didn't physically decorate it myself, but I designed it, and supervised. When I teach the occasional architecture class, I offer a contest for whoever can draw the best blueprints for something that isn't a building. There was a really good one for a ship in a bottle. 

Dic is way too interested in my hot drink. I plop him on the back of the sofa and he chirps his mixed feelings. "No rush for presents? What kind of a child are you? There is no more status quo!"

"The sun comes up and the earth still spins. Unless you got me eight slaves and a functioning Iron Man suit, I can wait. If you did, tell me now."

"Hey, you'll get eight slaves for your _wedding gift _. You got a bicycle last year."__

__Patsy lets Thesa dangle off her index finger by one foot. "After presents and breakfast we're going to..."_ _

__"Call your grandparents."_ _

__"And we're having lunch with..."_ _

__"The Madisons."_ _

__"Why do they never come here?"_ _

__"Because Mr. Madison is uncomfortable in houses that have pets, even if they're in another room and haven't touched anything he's sitting on."_ _

__"Okay. And then. The thing." It's very important to her, but she knows it takes a lot out of me, so she goes all elliptical on it._ _

__I smile for her. "Yeah."_ _

__Martha, the original one, died when Patsy was old enough to ask "Why?" but not old enough to understand any of the answers. The previous loss of her baby sister wasn't enough preparation. Someday I'll tell her about the ones she didn't get to meet. That will be responsible of me._ _

__Patsy can't remember, but I've told her that she decided Santa didn't need cookies from her. That Mommy might not be able to eat them, but she could maybe look at her grave and be happy Patsy is good at sharing._ _

__We're gonna do that today. After lunch._ _

__That's why I'm huddled in your pantry, James. I just need a moment. I'll be fine. Payne is yelling for you. I'm fine, shut up, don't get red in the face. It's Christmas._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts about Martha "Patsy" Washington Jefferson Randolph:
> 
> \- She was the only one out of all TJ's legitimate (i.e. not Hemings) kids to survive past 25, and they were very close emotionally.
> 
> \- She was his Acting First Lady, but as she was busy with her own kids by then, Dolley sometimes stepped in as Honorary First Lady for galas and so on.
> 
> \- Her son James Madison Randolph was the first baby to ever be born in the White House. (Her children included Benjamin Franklin Randolph and Meriwether Lewis Randolph, as Revolutionary Americans evidently used their kids' names like actors use Oscar speeches.)
> 
> \- When TJ died, he was in a lot of debt, much of it for frivolous reasons, and he only emancipated 5 slaves in his will, stipulating the other 130-ish were to be sold to help with the debts. He'd previously emancipated his own biological children (unlike his father-in-law) because not a total monster. However, SALLY HEMINGS was still supposed to go to auction. 
> 
> Enter Patsy, basically decent human being, who unofficially emancipated her half-aunt/mother of her half-siblings/former nanny. Patsy was limited in what she could do legally or financially, but she gave Sally what she could. Sally spent the last nine years of her life living comfortably with two of her sons.


	6. A New Year's Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Sharps Hour 'verse take on "Helpless".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I tried to make a chapter so closely parallel one particular song, though of course there are a few other lyrical/historical references mixed in. Let me know if it works.

John Church is away on business, so Angelica invited Eliza to spend December 31st with her at "Revel with the Rebels", her favorite club. It's playful and reasonably well-lit. Neither of them want anything too intense on their days off from working in mental healthcare. 

Angelica is starting to show her pregnancy a little if you squint, but her moves and dazzling confidence have not diminished. Her husband doesn't mind her dancing with other people as long as she leaves it all on the dance floor. Eliza watches her with amused affection.

Then Alexander Hamilton walks in. Her heart thumps. He's with two guys. One of them is John Laurens in a bowtie, how sweet. The other one is unfamiliar to her. He shoves both of them in the direction of the bar.

Eliza nearly jumps out of her skin when her sister materializes next to her and whispers, "Hey, that one's yours."

"Angie! He was our patient!"

"Was."

"He might be again later."

"He isn't now. Come on, some dancing won't inevitably lead to getting married two weeks later and having eight kids or whatever. Look at you. I know you. I don't want to watch you standing here being silently resigned."

"I'm fine."

"You're lying."

Before Eliza can make her many other excellent points, which she will remember any minute now, Angelica plunges into the crowd on an obvious mission. Eliza hasn't been so nervous in a setting like this one since high school prom. What the hell, Angelica?

Then Alexander lets Angelica tug him towards Eliza. She's saying something to him. Giving him her blessing? He's nervous, too. Look at those eyes and that cautious smile. That's the saving grace. Angelica lets go of him when he's in arms reach of Eliza. "She's not Nurse Eliza tonight. She's my sister Eliza. Got it? I'll leave you to it."

When she's melted back into the crowd, Alexander mumbles a "Hi," right in her ear. The music is at top volume, so there's no other way for him to be audible, barring shouting. He's so close. Her Id loves it. Maybe she'll have a drink later to quiet her Superego.

"Hi. What about your friends?"

"I need to check in on them from time to time, because it's their first date and it was originally my idea. But I also need to give them space. Because it's their first date and it was originally my idea. You know, if Angelica had never been my therapist and weren't already married I might also have...just for fun, you know, but..."

"You know how to flatter a lady." His face falls, no, no, not okay, she wants to stop its descent. "Joking. Angelica likes you, but she knows you too well now."

"Hah. When she grabbed me I almost had a heart attack."

"Thank you for being brave."

"Worth it." He holds out his hand, and she takes it.

He asks right away where he's allowed to touch her, and grins when he's told hands, arms, shoulders, and waist. No grinding, please. She doesn't tell him that she actually likes grinding with certain partners. She doesn't tell him the reason she won't with him is that she fears liking it _too much_.

It soon becomes clear that Alexander has a lot of enthusiasm but no polish. There's nothing wrong with that, but after a few songs of simply writhing to the rhythm, she murmurs (his face is right there, right there), "Follow my lead." 

He does and it's electric. It's like he can read what she's about to do seconds before she does it. She loses track of time until he apologetically requests a water break. "Lithium thirst. You know."

 _He was your patient, and one day he might be again,_ the stern voice tells her in her head. Eliza follows him anyway. She remembers that if he drinks nothing but water he feels sick. Remembers mixing up a rehydrating blend for him. Remembers those days he wasn't allowed pens so she gave him a box of crayons. Remembers the "shots" he took in that game she organized, revealing that he was an orphan, that he'd been homeless and hungry, that he'd lost a sibling in some fashion he'd never elaborated on, that he liked unicorns no matter what people said, that he was capable of compassion towards Thomas Jefferson when push came to shove. 

Eliza speaks to the bartender on autopilot. 

Alexander downs both his water and his virgin mojito before she can finish her single glass of...something she likes, otherwise she wouldn't have ordered it on autopilot, right? Her taste buds have gone AWOL. She nurses it (hahahahHAHHAHha) while Alexander checks to see if his high-school-bff Ned and his something-vague-but-vitally-important John are happy. John waves at Eliza and she waves back, feeling warm inside at John's loose body language and unforced smile.

"Wanna go again?" Alexander asks on his return.

"I do." 

They're so in the flow of it that the midnight countdown startles both of them. The music stops. They gamely join in on shouting out the numbers. More or less. When they get to "seven", the words stop coming out of her mouth, sticking somewhere in her throat and unable to emerge. When they get to "ZERO!", she kisses Alexander. Hungrily. 

At first he flails in surprise. Then he starts giving as good as he's getting, wrapping his arms around her and demonstrating the versatility of his tongue. She cups his cheek in her left hand and the back of his neck with her right. For a minute or so, she isn't afraid.

Then they separate. He stares. "Wow."

"I'm not sorry."

"Not asking you to apologize."

"Are you sorry?"

"Fuck no." Alexander closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he looks through her more that at her. Like he's reset himself. "Ned, not unlike Cinderella, has to start on his way home pretty much right now, and I'm his designated driver. John and I are staying with the Washingtons. Plus John still runs out of spoons rapidly, you know?"

"Of course." The music hasn't started up again. She's not sure if it's going to. 

He kisses her softly. A goodbye kiss. "Thank you, Eliza. You're the best."

Eliza feels the ghost of his mouth against hers for the rest of the night. She wishes they had more time. She tells Angelica about everything except the kisses. She tells herself that feelings can be helpless, but her choices aren't.

One week later, while digging through her purse for a pen, she finds a folded-up bit of paper. She unfolds it. 

_my tumblr url is mediocritiques (the o is correct; it's a pun)_

Eliza has to apologize to Nurse Paul Revere for laughing in relief - and at Alexander's punctuation priorities - during Paul's presentation on why Adolescent Ward needs more female staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read Alexander confessing a sexual fantasy he has about Eliza, to his boyfriend no less, check out Chapter 3 of "Afternoon Itches".
> 
> Update - less than 12 hours after posting, I have been alerted that somebody has anonymously taken advantage of the tumblr url I had made sure was nonexistent. I did not make that. (Internally running around in circles squeeing.)


	7. 14 Valentine's Days

1.  
The Laurens siblings' new apartment together was still chaotic with half-emptied boxes. The decision to share had been simple. Jack had been looking for a new place anyway and needed a roommate who "knew his deal". He was content, even happy, with amazing frequency, but he was still fragile and prone to some days of deep depression every few weeks. Missy said it was worth commuting in opposite directions for work. She needed to be able to walk a few steps and check on him while they were at home. 

Unspoken, never voiced but understood: _I need to be able to see for myself that you're still alive._

She tried to give him space, though, as an adult and as her big brother. She agreed to spend the night with a good, also-single friend, so that Jack could have more privacy for the special occasion. In the future they'd just have to do like polite roommates do (be quiet and discreet). And do like healthy siblings do (not think too hard about it).

"You're not going to push yourself just because he's your Valentine, right?" she asked while zipping up her overnight bag. She was on her way to her usual evening shift and would drive straight to her friend's house afterwards. 

Jack was leaning against the frame of her bedroom doorway, fiddling with a t-shirt she'd dropped there and not gotten around to putting away. He used to be messier than her, but now his room was always sleek and tidy. From his time in the Army, she assumed. He hadn't brought up that period of his life yet. "You make that sound incredibly high school. But I promise. He was very careful and considerate when I went to his place."

"Ned seems nice. Don't make me have to yell at him."

"Got it. Hey, can you look at the gift I have for him? Last-minute jitters. Not dirty, we haven't been dating long enough for that."

"Stop implying future dirtiness, oh my god." It cheered her to see that he was in a playful enough mood to stick out his tongue in reply, though.

It turned out to be a homemade card. On the cover it said, in beautiful lettering: "It's the 14th of February. There are 14 finger bones in a standard human hand. Coincidence?" She opened it. The left inside page had detailed diagrams of all 14 bones, with their names, lined up in neat rows. The right hand side said, "Yes. Obviously. But I want to interlace mine with yours all the same." Below it was a picture of two hands holding each other, labeled, "John Laurens" and "Eduardo 'Ned' Stevens".

"I was having a tough day and making this was a useful distraction," Jack explained. "Do you think it's too weird?"

"I think it's perfect." She squeezed his left shoulder - always the left - and hurried to their car. Instead of buying a new car, Jack was sharing hers and helping with payments. They figured out carpooling/picking each other up/public transport and it worked.

 

*****

2.  
George and Charlotte King went to a very quiet restaurant, with staff that had been briefed on an unlikely but tricky situations that might arise. It was one of his lucid and well-mannered days, and he appreciated getting to use a steak knife to cut his own meat with. They went for a long stroll afterwards and talked about old times.

*****

3.  
Friedrich had as elaborate plans as were feasible while dating a college student who hated skipping class. The more elaborate ones were for the following weekend. Then some fuckwit on a piece-of-shit electric board thing ran over his dog during their morning walk. 

Pierre skipped his last class of the day and found a friend to drop him off at the vet's office where Friedrich was waiting for Azor to get out of surgery. Sat down next to him. Told him it was going to be okay and the delightfulness of the following weekend would more than make up for this miserable evening. He was right on both counts.

****

 

4.  
Lafayette and Adrienne were both busy that day, but after dinner they curled up on the couch with their Notebook of Planning to figure out future BDSM scenes, as a duo or trio. Threeways needed even more planning now that they were sharing Pierre, but that was happy reason. After an hour or so they tossed the notebook aside and did something more spontaneous. 

 

****

5.  
Thomas gave Martha Jr. a phone call. She knew why but said nothing about it, telling him stories about lacrosse triumphs instead. Then he babysat Payne for a few hours, dodging the boy's questions about why he'd smirked so much at "Mommy and Jemmy".

****

6.  
Lewis sent Laurens home early from work with an indulgent wink. Then he did laundry, tried cooking a new recipe, ate a pleasant solo dinner, and finished the murder mystery novel he'd been reading. He didn't think of anything or anyone he shouldn't have. In fact, he felt really rather ok and slept well. His sexual yearnings didn't always kick up a fuss, and alone wasn't always lonely.

****

7.  
John and Sarah Jay presented each other with lists of things they loved about each other, and took turns reading them out loud over takeout food. John Jay teared up a few times but carried on.

****

8.  
Escorts were unusually expensive around this time of year and his on-again-off-again lady friend wasn't returning his overtures, so Franklin spent the night working on his ongoing project to build a functioning Gutenberg-style printing press from scratch.

****

9.  
Samuel Seabury spent another day doing what he could in his new calling as a prison chaplain, and thought about kinds of love.

 

****

10.  
Alexander's poly group decided that to avoid logistical nightmares and the possibility of hurting feelings, they would all make and have dinner together, en masse. Nobody would have sex with anyone else within one day of the Heteronormative Romance Festival, as Alexander's girlfriend Polly called it. To ensure nobody felt left out during a culturally-ingrained sensitive time.

Alexander-and-Liz's boyfriend Thom hosted because he had his own apartment. Tom's open-relationship girlfriend Liz brought a fondue pot. Polly's girlfriend Cornelia (part of a whole other network as well) volunteered for cleanup duty. Alexander to volunteered to interpret for Cornelia as ASL practice. Polly interpreted his interpretations when needed. He got frustrated and overwrought - it was a poor mental health day - but he was also surrounded by people who liked cuddling him, so it was all right in the end.

 

****

11.  
If they had time, Cato stopped by Israel's place after leaving his shift at Vernon and they ate together. Cato would go home to sleep after Israel left for his weekday job. On rarer mornings such as this, though, Cato made it to Israel's apartment half an hour or so before his boyfriend woke up. There was an agreed-upon routine in that case. He'd let himself in, take off his shoes, socks, and scrubs but leave on his shirt and shorts, and crawl into bed with him. He was very good at not waking people up. 

It wasn't to do anything to or with him. Just lie next to him. Have him there. If he slept there for real, at the same time Israel did, he took the couch. He'd made his peace with being in love, but was still wrestling with the rest of it. Half an hour was okay. Warm and quiet.

****

12.

Deborah Sampson's news site published an article about the importance of unions for healthcare workers. Readers probably wondered why that interesting-but-not-topical-or-urgent article came out on Valentine's Day. Molly didn't wonder. Her appreciation that night left no room for doubt, either.

 

****

13.

Eliza walked in on Peggy and Sybil. All of them shrieked. Then Eliza said, "Is that my bra, Margarita?"

"Uh."

"It hasn't gotten dirty," Sybil offered helpfully.

"Be sure you wash it. Don't do that again. Also even if you don't expect me back soon, you have a perfectly good bedroom with a perfectly good lock." Eliza rolled her eyes and left. Then turned on her heel and stuck her head out to the living room again. "Nice to meet you, Sybil."

When they were safely in Peggy's room, Sybil said, "I like her. Not like I like you, but, you know."

"Argh. Living with one sis is better than living with more plus everyone else, but argh."

Sybil kissed her between the shoulderblades. "I'll take the bra off you. Solve the problem."

****

14\. 

"Dear Theodosia, what to say to you?"

"Talk less, Aaron."

"...Oh, wow.."


	8. Saint Patrick's Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about grief and depression, but also about support. 
> 
> It's also what I call a "word-year", 365 words exactly.

March 17, 4 AM

All is quiet in the Men's First Floor Ward common area. A nurse lies on his back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His coworker sits down in a chair near him. The tech is not surprised, but concerned. He asks the nurse if it would help to take over some of his tasks.

_No, that's a trap we both keep falling into. I have a bad night, you help, then you end up doing too much. I stop noticing. You do more than your fair share. Until Phyllis rightly scolds me._

The tech accepts this. Asks if he's taken his meds (yes). Asks if he's eaten (yes). Asks if he always makes a point to wear black on Saint Patrick's Day.

_My dad was from Limerick. I thought that was cool when I was a kid. Like he was from a poem. A funny poem. He was a real tailor, not a hobbyist. "Mulligan's Menswear". American Saint Patrick's Day was odd to him. For him it was a day for Mass. Mom was part of a Protestant congregation, not so white as his. I didn't have to go to either church after I outgrew the need for a babysitter otherwise._

Cato doesn't say what they both know: Hercules says the same things every year.

_For me the biggest difference between clinical depression and sadness is that a sad person can think of an obvious way to be happy again. But you can have both at the same time. The actual day he died sucks too, but it doesn't have people reminding me of him all day. Sorry, I'm not good company right now._

Cato says Hercules has much better empathy with patients than Cato could. Hercules might sometimes be a jerk without thinking of it but figures it out eventually. Cato sees Hercules sitting with patients who can't sleep. Sometimes listening, sometimes just sitting. Cato can't do that all shift; he can for awhile. 

_Thanks, dude. Maybe I'll get drunk when I get home. Not much. My girlfriend will be there. She knows._

Hercules' mother, girlfriend, therapist, and Cato are the people Hercules doesn't fake okay-ness for. Cato feels lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel weirdly guilty for making my versions of these guys so friendly with each other, like I'm glossing over the master-slave reality (even mitigated by Mulligan teaming up with Hamilton and Burr, among others, to found a major manumissionist society later on). I try to leave little nods to their historical relationship as I go.
> 
> My hope is that a lot of people throughout time, if born in other circumstances, could be/could have been friends. Maybe even the kind of friends you talk about a dead parent with in the small hours of the morning.


	9. An Easter of Two Sams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the views herein are meant to be in character, but are not in perfect agreement with my own.

Dear Reverend Samuel Provoost,

I hope my delay in replying to your kind and thoughtful email hasn't given the impression that I did not appreciate it. Since what can be charitably termed my "resignation due to poor health", I haven't heard much from fellow members of the clergy I once counted as friends - discounting my Scottish mentors who provided me with shelter and good counsel after my psych ward discharge. 

To hear from you, in particular, has been a comfort. To know that my former congregation is doing well under your guidance is a balm. To know that you wish to give them an update on my welfare makes me feel - if this is not hubristic or presumptive - to a degree, redeemed. 

I can confirm that in a few months I will be testifying in court that, through the corruption and negligence of an individual I will not name here, I was injured by another patient, who should not have been among the (essentially peaceable) rest of us. I must emphasize that every single other patient and all other members of staff were horrified and did everything they could to support me. The trial itself is in a large part a reaction to the incident and the wicked actions that made it possible in the first place. I stand amazed by all that implies.

What is sometimes called insanity is a form of illness in the brain, just as, say, leukemia is a form of illness in the blood. My attacker did not do what he did because he was ill - he was capable of reason, unlike some in more dire states, whose outbursts are more like if someone having a seizure ended up punching a nearby person. _His_ condition shaped the nature of his temptation. It drove his method and means. Nevertheless, he _chose_ to hurt me. 

Another man I met there had the same condition, and though we did not always agree on issues of morality, he was still a good man. Generous, amiable, open-hearted, and had never raised a hand towards another. It is not any malady of the mind that causes real evil. It is the content of character, as with all people. (Again, discounting those poor souls incapable of controlling themselves.)

As for my own health, it's not perfect. Sometimes no medicine can keep the shadows from looming. I fall into patterns of suspicion and irrational doubt. I learned from my wounds, though, and trust in the Lord that real knowledge will come from sources other than poorly-edited websites and the thoughts that wake me up in the middle of the night. You can tell them that if you think they want to hear it. Honesty is a form of humility.

Yes, I like my new path. It's not always easy. There is a tremendous amount of rage in these men (sometimes women too, if their prisons requests my presence). Behind the rage, there is often equally tremendous fear and grief. I increasingly believe that the system of incarceration in this country actively works against repentance and reformation. When I am more sure of myself, I hope to speak more openly about such matters. 

In the meantime I do what I can. Most are not Episcopalian. Many are not Christian. That's not important, as long as they want to see me. One must remember that the Samaritan in the parable was _other_ , from a different background altogether from the man he saved. I'm not a therapist, but I pray that a listening ear and kind word can do something. However little.

All my fellow patients (saving that one I try to have compassion for, but I admit would rather not see again) revealed themselves over time as true brethren. No matter what wariness and personality clashes to start, to see someone's pain is to begin to love them. For me, anyway. I'm not always confident about the universality of my conclusions anymore.

I appear to have written you a sermon rather than a reply. Oh dear. Force of habit, I suppose, especially on Easter. I've been so nervous about this email that I assigned myself a deadline, you see, and today seemed an appropriate deadline for providing news about my own modest "rebirth". 

I'd like reading whatever sermon _you_ give them today. It doesn't have to be a full transcript or all your notes if that would inconvenience you. Even a summary. Some idea of how you're moving forward. You know? 

Thank you and bless you,

Reverend Samuel Seabury  
Or as my new flock calls me, "Rev Sam"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samuel Provoost succeeded Samuel Seabury as Presiding Bishop of the American Episcopalian Church. He was #3, to be exact.
> 
> Sometimes I miss being religious. It was comforting until it wasn't anymore. If I mess up on terminology, I apologize and would be happy to correct. I grew up LDS and there are a lot of vocab differences.


	10. April Fools: A Quartet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special announcement that this one, featuring the Queer Quartet (Alexander, Lafayette, John, and Pierre), came out so fluffy I can hardly stand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! SO FLUFF! such fluff, wow
> 
> Also a teeny bit of sexiness.

1.

QueenofDiamonds: I have news! I just won a massive tournament and am now a millionaire! I'm the first woman to win an event on the European Poker Tour!

A.Ham: I'm so happy for you! I knew you could do it. People underestimate you and think you're "silly" because you're young and attractive and wear beautiful dresses and jewelry. And yeah, maybe you're insecure about politics and economics and other stuff that isn't your forte. But you play cards like it's a religion.

QueenofDiamonds: I thought du Barry would call my bluff for sure, but I suppose all those games until dawn were good for something. ;)

A.Ham: Not to diss du Barry, but she's got nothing on you, and you'll knock her right off her throne every time. What are you going to do with the loot? Are you going to get a house? You don't have to, obviously, not everyone wants their own house. I feel like you mentioned once that you'd like to have your own cottage in the French countryside with a few pet sheep, but I might be confusing this with one of Laf's occasional mentions of stuff he's inherited or stands to inherit.

QueenofDiamonds: You've never been to Europe, right? Consider Vienna with no more computer screens between us.

A.Ham: :D <3 :D

A.Ham: Wait a sec

A.Ham: VICTORIA COREN MITCHELL was the first woman to win one of those, like 10 yrs ago, you told me all about her 'cause she's your hero...

A.Ham: Shit I forgot the date, you got me

QueenofDiamonds: Good memory you have. Are you brokenhearted?

A.Ham: uh

A.Ham: maybe a lil bit

QueenofDiamonds: Does it make you feel better for me to truthfully inform you that I accepted an invitation to speak at some dull little conference in Atlantic City?

A.Ham: Not if you're still fucking with me

QueenofDiamonds: Google "Marie Antoinette Hapsburg Confirmed for Poker Panel"

A.Ham: !

A.Ham: omg, you'll be so close

QueenofDiamonds: probably wanted a pretty lady for the panel. Fine, no matter, they're flying me in and you can share my room. ;)

A.Ham: ;)

QueenofDiamonds: There's a free breakfast buffet of reasonable quality. We can enjoy the boardwalk when we motivate ourselves to go outside. I shall play a little, but use only my speaker's fee for that, so I'll break even at minimum. Not that I plan on minimum. Will you be bored as my arm candy for a few hours?

A.Ham: I would love to see you in action. As long as we don't have to pay for the hotel, I definitely have the budget. I won't gamble, though. 

QueenofDiamonds: Oh, I never gamble. I extract my rightful amount of money from lesser people. Gamblers lose their heads.

A.Ham: I've previously had terrible luck in New Jersey. I wasn't in Atlantic City, but I still won't take risks.

 

****

2\. 

Adrienne woke with her head pillowed on her husband's chest. Which was all very romantic, but her neck ached a bit now. She transferred her head to a real pillow. The wall clock said they had nearly fifteen minutes before their alarm would go off. 

Gilbert said, voice still thick with with sleep, "Happy April first."

"Same to you. Did you cause chaos inside my neat kitchen drawers and leave a note reading, 'Guess what I took'?"

"Yes. I'll put them back in order once you identify what I took. Did you change my phone wallpaper to something so heartrendingly cute that I will make an undignified squeal, in public, the first time I see it?"

"Yes." It was a baby tortoise happily eating a strawberry larger than its head. He would find out soon enough.

He smiled and turned towards her. "Have you considered that we may know each other too well by now? The first time you pranked me involved hiding my toys during a playdate."

"I could try that one again next year. Different type of toys, of course..." She reached for the alarm clock, which was on her side. She reached. And reached. And nearly fell out of bed. 

He grasped her arm in time to keep her from drastically overbalancing. "I also moved the bedside table a significant distance further away than it usually is."

"Clever! I appreciate the cushions you placed in case I actually fell." She kissed him on the cheek, then climbed out of their blanket nest and went to the window. Her negligee was a little askew. She adjusted it. "It's beautiful outside."

He gestured at her. "It's beautiful inside, too." 

"Flatterer." She continued to stare out the window, knowing he would want to join her. She grinned when she heard the telltale clinking and rattling.

After a pause: "Adri?"

"Yes?"

"Did you chain my ankles to a bedpost?"

"One of the things I love about you is your keen powers of observation. I also enjoy how you frequently sleep nude." She hid her laugh behind her hand when she saw he'd thrown off the bedclothes and was inspecting the padlock. As if that would do anything.

He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. "Will you permit me to go anywhere today?"

If he wanted to take it in that direction, why not? "I could be convinced."

"How would you like to be convinced, Marquise?"

Mmm, very nice. She came close to him and stroked his cheek, rough with stubble. "You have ten minutes. You are a good, creative boy, are you not?" 

 

****

3.

"Last year, Lafayette tricked me into thinking he was never going to hit me again. I believed it for a whole twenty minutes."

Friedrich chewed on his dried apricot. He was trying to eat healthier snacks these days. "How tragic."

Pierre only had one class today, and he was in bad spirits after an argument with Reinette that they needed time to cool off from before they could begin making up. So he was spending the evening and night at Friedrich's house rather than his own apartment. Friedrich would have been happy for Pierre to outright move in with him, but Pierre needed his own space. He also treasured his apartment's proximity to campus.

Right now he was lying sideways on the couch with his head in Friedrich's lap. Pierre had his very own, very therapeutic, lapful of Italian greyhound. It was much easier to cuddle Azor now that his stitches and accompanying Cone of Shame had been removed. Azor no longer bonked his way around the furniture, which had been both pitiful and hilarious (he'd never stopped being confused by the phenomenon).

"Imagine how'd you feel if I convinced you for an equal length of time that I've sworn off bondage forever."

"I doubt I'd believe you for even thirty seconds. Apricot? No, don't reach for it, your hands are dirty. Open your mouth."

"Your daddy says you're dirty, _cucciolo_. Yes, he does. Yes, he does. Uh huh." Pierre wasn't ashamed to admit he went to Google translate to find Italian words to use as nicknames for someone else's dog. 

The amused actual dog owner petted Pierre's hair much the same way Pierre was petting Azor. "Don't talk - INDEBTED - with your mouth full."

"Hey, do you think today might be a good day to test my parents' reaction towards me dating someone so much older than me? If it's bad I can say it was a joke..."

"I can think of several ways in which that strategy works out poorly for everyone involved."

Pierre sighed. "Yeah." Azor started licking his fingers.

"Little gecko, do you genuinely want me to have some sort of relationship with your family, or do you simply believe that it's necessary to legitimize the relationship we have with each other? If the former, I will brave any awkwardness and accusations for your sake. If the latter, I feel very secure in your love and devotion, and I am reasonably certain you do, too."

"Oh, super secure. And I'm fine with keeping the two worlds separate. It would be a relief. Easy, too, because they're only ever going to come here for my graduation. But..." Pierre tried to sit up. Azor did not approve and Friedrich remained neutral. He stayed put. "I just feel like it's what you're supposed to do when you're in love with someone and have nice parents."

"Of all the notions about things you are 'supposed' to do with lovers, which you gleefully ignore and subvert at every turn, you're pressuring yourself to attempt the one that frightens you the most?"

After a moment of thought, a sheepish yet relieved smile spread across Pierre's face. "Sounds foolish of me." 

"Not at all. Sounds loving."

"There are a number of people and songs who consider that synonymous. Lean down and kiss me so I don't have to dislodge the good little _cagnetto._ "

Friedrich scooped Azor up and deposited him on a nearby chair. Then he picked up his glass of vividly orange Thai-style iced tea and deliberately dribbled a small amount of it on Pierre's shirt and pants. "Oh no. If you don't take those off right away and soak them in the sink, perhaps they will stain. And the clothes you normally stash here have mysteriously gone missing. Whatever shall we do."

Pierre laughed. "What your prank lacks in subtlety it makes up for i-- _mmmph!"_

****

4.

JACK  
hey sis are you on your way home?

ME  
Leaving in 20 min. soon as Cato gets here. you ok?

JACK  
a thing with your room. I can fix

ME  
what

ME  
I'm sure it'll be okay. No need to freak out.

JACK  
I hope you won't be upset. I did my best.

ME  
I'm sure we can fix it together, whatever it is.

ME  
What happened? I forgive you, but I don't want to drive home in suspense

JACK  
How fond of your desk are you?

ME  
I have no strong emotional attachment, but what did you do???

JACK  
I put a cute ornamental plant on it, but I'M the one who likes ferns, so maybe I should have gotten 1 succulent and 1 fern instead of 2 ferns?

JACK  
What'd you think I was gonna say? :P 

ME  
Lol. An improvement on what you used to pull when we were kids.

JACK  
Hey, you SEWED MY PJs TO MY BEDSHEETS on TWO DIFFERENT YEARS

ME  
If I don't like the fern, we can put it in the kitchen. 

JACK  
Where you will be sure to never see it. 

ME  
John Laurens, I swear

JACK  
Impressed by your effort. Replacing my bedsheets with Lilo & Stitch ones. I sense a theme.

ME  
Callback. :) April foooooooooool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victoria Coren Mitchell is also a columnist, the host of the fiendishly difficult BBC quiz show Only Connect, and is the first person to win TWO European Poker Tour events. She wrote a book about her and a friend trying to write, cast, and direct the most well-plotted, least-problematic porn film ever. She also left a lucrative online poker sponsorship deal when the site introduced various casino games where you play against the house rather than other players, because she considers that targeting the vulnerable.
> 
> I always feel like Marie "Card Games Til Dawn Because My Husband Doesn't Satisfy Me" Antoinette could have been a much better person than she was raised/allowed to be. And this AU's version only got a throwaway line in Sharps Hour.
> 
> Pierre looked up translations for "puppy" and "doggy". Keeping it simple.


	11. Promise-to-Mother's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharps Hour - the fic, not the Time Out of Mind series as a whole - just hit 600 kudos! 
> 
> Warning for mentions of suicide, maternal death, paternal abandonment, and sibling separation.

If Mother's Day coincides with Alexander's bimonthly trips to Virginia - why bother switching psychiatrists when he was going to visit the Washingtons a fair amount anyway? - then he gives Martha Washington flowers and a card in person. If the timing is tricky, then he mails a card and has flowers sent. She's got her own grown children who can take her out to brunch and things. 

There's something he must do every year, though. He's done it ever since George Washington was nice enough to track down certain contact information for him. 

Alexander sips his coffee while Skype bibbety boops. It's actually afternoon, but last night he IM-ed John about what he's going to do today. The follow-up questions took awhile. Then it turned into a discussion about how messed up the unpaid internship system is. Then, more importantly, touching base re: Ned is treating John right. Ned's been Alexander's close friend for over a decade, and Alexander trusts him, wouldn't have introduced them otherwise, but nevertheless Alexander doesn't have nightmares about a heartbroken _Ned_ shooting himself. 

At which point Thom got tired of dropping hints, so he got naked and draped himself over Alexander.

Anyway, what with one thing or another, he was up late. He's mid-yawn when the call is answered. A face not dissimilar to his peers back at him. "Have you gained a few pounds, Alejo?" When they were little, neither of them could say the letter "x" very well, so Jim used a diminutive of "Alejandro". Thanks for insisting on specific names _you_ liked before scurrying back to Scotland, Dad. 

"Like, five pounds, max. Meds and dating a good cook. Nice to see you too, Jim." 

The foster care system isn't the greatest at keeping siblings together. Alexander hasn't seen Jim in person since their guardian cousin dramatically exited their lives as well as his own. They're bad at calling each other. They do happy birthday messages and so on, when they remember. Alexander rarely bothers to mention Jim to new people. It's a whole needless and unsatisfying detour in what makes Alexander who he is.

"I got promoted," Jim offers. He's shirtless in what must be his bedroom. Window's open.

"Nice! What job, again? Sorry."

"Carpentry. I've got underlings now. How about you?"

"Uh...I spent some time in a psych ward. Again. I sorted it out. Met some cool people, actually. It's pushed back my degree a semester, but I'll still be done by next year. I'm going to testify in court - as a withess - at the end of June, but not sure how much I'm allowed to tell you."

"Whoa. Dramatic." Jim peers past Alexander. "Is someone asleep behind you?"

"Deaf boyfriend. Literally Deaf, I'm not making a joke about him being a sound sleeper or whatever. My roommate's banished me until his mother leaves town. His gift to her is a guided tour around NYC."

"I thought you had a girlfriend?"

"Technically, I have two, but Antoinette is 99.99% online-only. Except for an upcoming Atlantic City meetup." Plus Polly is slowly, inexorably, both physically and emotionally drifting away. No blame assigned. She and Cornelia are getting more insular, thinking about running off together, thinking West Coast, like Portland or something. Alexander tries to keep the moping low-key. Sometimes that's how it goes. At least their second chance gave them a few extra months, and he's seen her truly happy. She also helped him learn how to talk to Thom, in the beginning. At least he keeps his guy in his life. 

Jim laughs. "Well, I've got a wife and kid. Beat that."

"So I've seen on your timeline. In excruciatingly photographed detail. I bet I could make a flipbook of him crawling around." Alexander means to continue bantering, but instead: "She'd be so thrilled to have a grandson."

"Yeah. Probably bug me to produce a granddaughter ASAP."

"Did she save all our breadcrumbs in a jar to feed birds with later?" Jim's memories are stronger. That's what Alexander values most about this ritual.

"It was to feed fish." Jim scratches his stubble. "Remember how she'd check under the bed for monsters?"

"And I told her to grab one for me and haul it out. I wanted to see what one looked like..."

_Don't forget each other, my sons. Don't forget me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's give it up for poor obscure James Hamilton Junior, older brother of Alexander Hamilton.


	12. (Unwanted) Memorial Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:
> 
> \- Panic attack/flashbacks  
> \- What might be imposter syndrome?  
> \- Mentions of ableism and gaslighting  
> \- Past sexual harassment and nonconsensual (but nonsexual) touching  
> \- Past threat of being blackmailed into sex.  
> \- Referenced suicide attempt
> 
> This is a hurt/comfort story.

John bolted. He wanted to explain himself, felt like he should, but he instinctively bolted. The food-heavy section of the Memorial Day fair had emptied out now that almost everyone was watching the parade. He fled to one he'd bought something from earlier. Maybe that would endear him to the seller.

"June Yi's Bubble Tea" was devoid of customers, but June herself was there, in her vaguely dashing pantaloons, breezy red blouse, and what totally looked like a sea captain's hat. She was counting and organizing the bills in the cash box. Her assistant was mixing up another batch for the thirsty post-parade rush. He didn't look up at John, but she did.

"I'm a vet and I'm having flashbacks and not sure I can make it further and I know this is weird but could I hide under your table a bit until I can breathe please?"

John was generally embarrassed to describe himself as a "veteran" when he spent only a little over eight months in Afghanistan, didn't see combat, and was in only moderate danger except for his colossally bad luck. But his therapist said if it could make people who might not understand "major depression" and "assorted trauma" give him the emergency psychological support he needed, there was no shame in not telling the whole story. It's wasn't like he was asking for discounts or bragging about nonexistent feats. 

Meanwhile, Martian said getting blown up and permanently physically affected should be enough to satisfy anyone that John had been through shit. Missy said she would have been fine with him outright lying - which he wasn't - in order to cut through ableist nonsense. John thought that was going a bit far, but it was nice to be so fiercely loved. Alexander and Lafayette forbade him from _not_ mentioning it in situations such as his current one. Pierre had offered to teach him how to convincingly fake-cry. Again, bit far, but the thought counted.

And Ned...

It was hard to tell how old June was, but the look she gave him was almost motherly. Maybe aunt-e-ly. "Go ahead. Be discreet and don't kick, but stay as long as you need."

He lifted up the tablecloth, which stretched all the way to the ground and made for a comforting little cave. He tucked himself inside. It was a big table, but he curled into a ball anyway.

It couldn't have been court-martialed General Lee, disgraced former _Army_ officer Charles Lee, marching in that parade. No matter what his wonky sympathetic nervous system insisted his eyes had seen (and promptly decreed that they would choose FLIGHT). They were _Marines_ , for one thing. Also, running into his sister again was enough bizarre coincidences for one lifetime.

John grabbed a fistful of grass. He didn't pull it up. He held it and thought about how it felt against his skin. He was touching grass and the ground, he was touching his own clothes and cool dirt. He was breathing, and he was touching, and _nobody was touching him_.

"Ma'am, is my bo - buddy hiding under your table?"

"Describe him," June replied, directly above John and sounding completely serious. 

"Uh, he's wearing shorts and a t-shirt with a picture of the Everglades on it, and sandals? And he has a lot of freckles. And was probably hyperventilating. I just want to ask him if he just needs to be away from the crowd, or if he needs to be alone." That was a long speech, for him. He must have been really worried.

John reached out and tugged at Ned's shoelaces.

She must have noticed, because she said, "Behave, and you can stay down there too."

"Don't touch me, please." John said quietly when Ned joined him.

Ned sat cross-legged within arms-reach, but leaving some space. "Okay."

John took a moment to let his sentences line up properly, so they wouldn't all jam in his mouth and he could say one thing at a time. "I didn't used to panic like this. The numbness protected me."

"They say pain means you're alive."

"I must be super alive." John pushed away his guilt as best he could. Ned must be suffocating in here, in this heat, but he'd learned to respect Ned's agency in choosing to help John.

They both huffed a tiny gallows-humor chuckle. Then there was silence for a few seconds.

John's voice didn't get quieter, but it got smaller. More tentative. "Basic training wasn't fun, but I had a lot of convenient self-loathing at the time."

"Handy." Ned rolled with freakouts really well. It must have been his long exposure to Alexander.

"The bombing wasn't fun either. Or recovering."

"Be weird if it was fun."

John closed his eyes. "I missed Laf so much. Had a picture of him. He was the only person who called or wrote, though Adrienne sent care packages, bless her. Everyone thought he was my boyfriend."

"I thought that about him and Xander." 

(Ned was a big fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and privately persisted in the nickname even though Alexander was light-years from being like the character. Alexander, meanwhile, sometimes called Ned "Pieface" in reference to the show Pushing Daisies. Only recently had they deemed John close enough to both of them to be privy to this information.)

"General Lee said I seemed lonely." _Arm around shoulders, awkward but not worth making a scene about._ "'Just being friendly, that's all.' That's how it started."

Thankfully, Ned already knew the broad outline of the whole Lee thing. It meant John didn't have to provide context right now. "Cowards look for easy targets."

"Then one day he got me alone, and he got very close. Put his hand on the back of my neck." _Don't be in such a hurry to run off, Laurens, I'd like to talk._

"Is that why you've asked me not to do that?" 

"Yeah. And a few of the other things I've asked you not to do."

"I'll never touch you in a way you don't want me to." It was true. Sometimes John didn't want sex, or stopped enjoying it partway through, and though Ned was understandably not delighted, he'd back off. No blame. No pressure.

Eyes opened again, looking up at his boyfriend. Worried face, but calm. Steady. Good thing he snored horribly, didn't understand why John didn't love crime shows as much as he did, overestimated his own home repair skills, and had a knack for accidentally breaking crockery. Along with a few other petty things. Otherwise he'd be unnervingly perfect. 

He mustered a small smile. "I know, thanks."

"Always."

"'There are a lot of things I'd like to do to you,' he said once."

"Wish I'd been there, Johnny. Would have been a different story." Quiet rage could be nice, sometimes, when it was on your behalf.

John felt a bit of clover tickling his ankle. "I want you to hold my hand now, please." Voices, voices.

_"Enough. I don't know how you keep cornering me like this, but this is enough. I'm going to report you for harassment."_

_"Then I'll report that you've repeatedly lied about your mental health and stability. Tell me, when you tried to jump off the bridge, did any of your friends try too, like in that saying? Or did you have no friends back then, either? Except maybe the ones who wanted a piece of your ass, pretty boy. Who are they going to believe? I have a wife. You have a photo."_

_"How did you - I have more than - stop touching my face, please, stop."_

_"You also have nice cheekbones. Don't make such a fuss. It's not like I'm going below the belt. Though if I ever get the time and the privacy...how much do you want your past to stay hidden?"_

The affectionate reply broke the spell, for now. "Sure." Cool fingers meshed with John's. 

Then there was a knock. On the inside-tent side of the table, the cloth lifted and a lidded cup of bubble tea, two straws stuck in it, was thrust at them. It was the same flavor John had purchased earlier. "I can hear a lot of what you're saying."

"Oh," John said, unsure what to make of that. Ned took the tea with his free hand.

June cleared her throat. "I have strong feelings about the sort of behavior you have alluded to. It's on the house. Don't you dare litter or spill and attract ants."

"Thank you so, so much, ma'am," Ned replied to their unseen benefactor. 

John took stock of his emotions. "It might be easier to drink this while standing up."

"We could go somewhere less crowded. Sit in the car, even."

"Sounds good. Sorry I made you miss most of the parade."

"Nice thing about Memorial Day parades? They have 'em every year. May I kiss you?"

"I think so. In the car." 

The tea customers were confused by the two young men rolling out, but June acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, like she hid people down there all the time. 

***

**Epilogue**

Three weeks later, Ned sent John a link to a news article: BUBBLE BUBBLE TEA AND TROUBLE 

It hadn't been proven that "June Yi's Bubble Tea" was a front for Ching Shih, the Pirate Empress of Land and Sea, but there was a new investigation. The article said that Ching Shih and her crew were best-known in the factory towns of Guangzhou, especially along the coast. It said she was a hands-on sort of crime boss, who might have needed to spend some time away from China until things with a rival syndicate calmed. She was also nowhere to be found.

John thought about it for a few minutes and replied: _At least it was great tea. Ttyl, got therapy. <3 _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted an excuse to incorporate a version Ching Shih (Widow of Ching), who went from a prostitute, to a pirate captain's wife, to one of the most successful pirates ever. Rather than try to take her down, the government eventually gave her amnesty and encouraged her to retire. She died obscenely wealthy in 1844, age 69.
> 
> Interesting note, which influenced my decision to put her in this particular chapter: If any man serving on any of her 300-ish ships commited rape and got caught, he was put to death.
> 
> *25 Mar 2017: Has been edited to improve Ching Shih's in-universe secrecy.


	13. Bad/Gone/Dead/New Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: A modern take on the Gay Trio's daddy issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings:  
> \- Implied verbal/emotional abuse  
> \- Reference to bullying  
> \- Reference to food insecurity  
> \- Parent death  
> \- Parental abandonment  
> \- Implied/referenced suicide  
> \- Kids making jokes about getting kidnapped (juuuust in case)
> 
> I've never seen a fic containing a scene with Hamilton's cousin. I have decided to fill the void.

_1\. Bad Father_

"You shouldn't try to grab the tadpoles!"

Missy frowned. "But why, Jack?"

Jack tried to scoot a little closer to the creek while still balancing his sketchbook on his scabby knees. "They're like fish. They can't breathe out of water."

"You said they're really baby frogs. Frogs hop around all the time." The water wasn't deep, but she hadn't hit her growth spurt yet, and it was almost up to her knees. Her shoes lay scattered carelessly on the grassy bank.

"When they're babies, they can only breathe water. And they don't have legs. They're stuck in the stream whether they like it or not."

"But when they're grownups they don't have to stay?"

Mami gave Jack these charcoal pencils for his birthday. The resulting drama made him pretty sure he wasn't going to get any more of them anytime soon, but Mami gave little secret smiles when she saw the smudges on his fingers (before carefully warning him to wash his hands right away). They were good for capturing the motion of the tadpoles. Swirl and dart and dive.

"When they're grownups, they can go anywhere."

Then (of course, of course) came the shouting in the distance. "John Laurens, you're going to be late for baseball practice! We talked about this, young man! I'm going to count to five..."

"I'll put everything back under your bed," Missy whispered, cringing. 

Jack mouthed a thank you, and flung his supplies a safe distance from the water before scrambling towards danger. He couldn't let it get worse. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sir! I lost track of time! I won't do it again!"

***

_2\. Gone Father_

"Uncle Peter, what's a 'bustard'?"

He wasn't their uncle really, but he was so much older than Alex and Jim that it felt right to call him that. He'd just come back from work. Long after dark. As usual. He looked sad and tired. As usual. He made and effort and smiled at Alex, tousling his hair before taking a seat on one of the three mismatched chairs. As usual. "Where'd you hear that, buddy?" Uncle Peter couldn't speak Spanish. But that was okay. Alex needed to work on his accent, anyway.

"A kid at school said I was one. I looked it up. The dictionary said it's a kind of bird, a big, heavy, fluffy bird. Was he saying I'm fat? I remember the doctor said I'm a little too short and skinny, so I think that's a dumb insult to pick."

Uncle Peter thought about it for a long time and looked a bit upset. Alex wanted to tell him not to feel bad for not knowing much about birds, but then he said, "I dunno. I don't speak Bully. Whatever he meant, though, it wasn't fair or your fault. I hope you know that." 

The dining/living room light was burnt out. Uncle Peter said he couldn't get a new bulb until payday. That was okay. The kitchen light was bright enough so they could see well enough to sit here too, though it was too dark to read. Alex and Jim could do their homework in the kitchen for the rest of the week. Their cousin had to "economize" sometimes to make sure all of them had enough to eat. That was okay, too. They'd learned to manage.

Speaking of which. "Jim made rice and beans. We ate before he went to hang out with the kids who live down the hall. Saved some for you."

"That's sweet of you. Not hungry, but thanks." 

Alex crossed his arms across his chest. "You always say you're not hungry. We're fine, we're full. Beans are healthy. You're going to get sick if you don't eat...are you sick already? Is that why you're not hungry? Mama stopped eating when she got sick and -"

"C'mere." Uncle Peter wrapped his arms around Alex. "I'll eat some later. I promise. I need to rest for a moment first. Sometimes when I have a rough day, I forget to eat. Thanks for reminding me."

"You promise?" Alex looked up to see the nod of confirmation. "I know it's hard for you to take care of us. It should be our dad's job. Not yours. Cousins and uncles aren't supposed to have to do the hard parts."

"Your father was full of it when he split. You both deserve better. I'm sorry I'm not better. One day, Alex, you gotta fend for yourself. But not today." His words were nice, but he sounded so flat. So sad. He said he wasn't sick, and his body didn't look sick, but if he wasn't tending to the boys or at work, he didn't do much of anything. Something about him was getting colder and colder as he shouldered every burden. 

Alex held his guardian as tight as he could, and pushed away the unimaginable.

***

_3\. Dead Father_

"Do you remember your papa?" Adrienne asked as Gilbert pulled her swing back as far as he could. They'd been talking about Adrienne and her father planning to go on a trip to see Versailles, just the two of them - until she'd stopped herself and sounded all worried.

He let the swing go and quickly ran to the one next to it. He was happy to start himself off, kicking his legs out for momentum. "I think I remember a thing or two. I don't know if I'm remembering memories I had once, though. Or maybe telling myself stories."

"Is it true some British men killed him?" The arcs and timing of their motions weren't synchronized, but Adrienne seemed intent on changing that.

"Where'd you hear that?"

She shrugged. "Here and there."

"That sounds over-dramatic. It's not like a Marquis is automatically a famous person you'd want to try to kill. These days." Their swinging was now perfectly lined up, which was pleasant. 

Adrienne tossed her head so her long braids would flutter around. "Your family seems pretty worried you'll get kidnapped by someone." She gestured at nearby shrubbery, which had a ninety-percent chance of containing a bodyguard specifically ordered to maintain the illusion of carefree, normal childhood. The playground was also lacking in other children in a way that seemed improbable. Especially on such a pretty June day.

"That's a being-rich thing." It was a blessing that Gilbert's grandmother and her parents were old friends, otherwise he might never have met Adrienne, or gotten to use the public playground near enough to her house that she was allowed to go by herself. "I don't think someone would grab me and lock me in a dungeon for _political_ reasons."

"Most kidnappers don't have dungeons. If they had that kind of money already, why'd they bother with kidnapping?"

"Perhaps a cellar?"

What a bright laugh. "I'd try to save you. And if I couldn't, I'd keep you company until someone saved us." Adrienne's pace slowed. He did his best to match. "You could come to Versailles with us, if you wanted."

Gilbert didn't tell her how aware he was of how much in the way he would be. An awkward presence at best. "No, you go bond with your father. I've started English tutoring on weekends anyway, to supplement what we study at school."

"To go confound and confuse some British henchmen?" Adrienne teased, speeding up again.

"No!" To impress her, he leapt forwards into a perfect landing on his feet. "I want to go to America!"

***

_+1 New Father_

"Thank you for letting me join in on this camping trip, Dr. Wash." John smacked Alexander's hand away from the tent poles, which he had demonstrated dangerous unfamiliarity with. Alexander was just barely getting over his aversion to spending time in the woods. He was wearing long pants to avoid ticks, the logic being that he didn't know if someone could get Lyme disease squared, but he didn't want to find out. 

John continued, "I make shelter. Our leader makes fire. You make pile of sticks."

"You're more than welcome, John. I wish I'd had someone as steady and quick-on-the-uptake as you in my troop, back in my Scoutmaster days. That was before I took in these two, to whom I would have shown blatant favoritism anyway." Washington started creating a perimeter where they could make a campfire without burning down the whole state park.

"What does Lafayette make?" Alexander asked, grinning. He got on his tiptoes to get a look at the stream just over a grassy knoll

"Momentous announcement," Lafayette said, trying to sound jocular but failing.

Washington raised his eyebrows. "Should we sit down for this?"

"Up to you, Mon Generale." Lafayette starting calling him that after a truly awe-inspiring game of Risk they'd played with Martha and Alexander in the second week after his arrival from France. Washington had managed to take over two and a half continents. 

"Ah think ah need to set a spell in this heat," John said, the only person unaware that he went Full Accent Shift for a single sentence. Normally it only happened when he and Missy were really tired or emotional in each other's company, but every once in a blue moon it happened because he was deeply at ease, as ironic as that was in some ways.

(Alexander and Lafayette considered it _the cutest thing_ , but would never say so. John and Lafayette had the same opinion about Alexander's rare accent shifts. Lafayette had never attempted to shed his accent.)

Lafayette and Washington remained standing. Alexander joined John on the "floor" of the "tent" (give it time).

"We are not spreading the news far and wide beyond family until a few weeks from now," Lafayette began. "But you are family to us."

"Don't bury the lead," Alexander implored, in a key line from the Bly musical no less.

"Adrienne's pregnant." 

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD YOU WILL BE THE BEST DAD EVER!" The force of Alexander's hug nearly made both him and Lafayette topple to the ground. Washington grabbed Lafayette's shoulders to steady them. 

John spoke around the mysteriously new lump in his throat. "Congratulations. I can't think of anyone more deserving. Except maybe Dr. Wash."

"Please," Washington said.

Still in the hug but content to be there, Lafayette, explained, "We are still debating feminine names, but the masculine winner, hands-down, is 'Georges'."

"Oh, please, this is too much."

"Hug me, my commander. Hug us. You too, John."

"Could I maybe hug you individually in a minute?" John asked, feeling foolish but needing to ask.

"Of course." Lafayette enjoyed his moment in a hug sandwich before giving John less-overwhelming tactile affection.

Hugging done all round, Alexander tilted his head and poked Lafayette's shoulder. "I hate to ask this, but you _are_ completely and utterly sure it's not Pierre's, right?"

John glanced over to see Washington's reaction, but Washington was watching a dragonfly. Watching it really intently. Watching it like it might tell him the secrets of the universe. Alexander had once confessed to John that he'd given Lafayette some useful-for-m/m/f-threesomes lessons, with Adrienne's full approval, back when they both lived with George and Martha. Alexander was convinced their foster/host parents had no idea. 

"Extremely sure. And, should there have been an unlikely accident..." Lafayette looked back at Washington. "It doesn't matter all that much to me. I believe biology is the least significant part of fatherhood."

They saw George Washington smile.

John could hear croaks and ribbits in the distance, from the stream. "When they're grownups, they can go anywhere," he said to himself.

"What's that?" Alexander asked, taking his hand. 

"Tadpoles."

"Have you taken your meds?" Clearly teasing.

"I can't take them until someone gathers wood to build a fire to heat food to take them with. Unhand me and get to work." Deadpan.

"Fine. You show us your supposedly amazing tent-erection skills. Pun intended." Deader-pan.

Lafayette announced, "Pierre has preemptively claimed the title of Vague Uncle. I expect you two to fight for the title of Secular Godfather, as George Washington has earned Namesake. A double-entendre contest is an acceptable first round."

They heard George Washington chuckle, which was the even greater victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may have noted this in another fic at some point (Sharps Hour?), but in case, and because it's a great story anyway:
> 
> The real Lafayette and Adrienne's families wanted to arrange a marriage between them, but they were concerned that their children might rebel at being forced into it. So instead, from early childhood onwards, they arranged casual meetings and and various "whoops, hey, look who that is?" encounters. Without ever telling them. By their teens, the two of them were determined to get married NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAID. I like to think the parents went: "Oh no. Well, if you must." Then drank champagne. 
> 
> As someone else put it, that's the ultimate happy Romeo and Juliet remix. And they stayed happy. Even after he ran off to America without telling her first (for fear of their overprotective family stopping him). Even as she kept him company when he was imprisoned for political reasons. Her last words to him, on her deathbed: "I am yours forever."


	14. Interdependence Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12 one-sentence fics about what different characters do this particular July 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I visited Mount Vernon last Friday, and I need to tell you that the food court in the nearby vistor's center has a pastries-and-coffee-only section called Cafe Lafayette, with an image of him striking a gallant pose on the sign.

1.

Thomas thinks he caught something not-serious-but-not-fun from John Adams during a recent visit, but Patsy's summer drama class is doing a medley from a historical musical, and he's going to be there if it kills him.

2.

Franklin is in Hawaii, and now that the important conference is over, he's scanning a Maui beach with his "pimped-out, as the kids say" metal detector.

3\. 

James is happily demonstrating to everyone at the barbecue that he is now capable of using tongs to remove his own hot dog from the hot, fiery, unpredictable grill, then eating it using chopsticks. 

4\. 

George King isn't sure what day it is, although the _significance_ has slipped Charlotte's mind too; the really important things are that he's home after months inpatient, the children are home, and he's all caught up on Coronation Street. 

5\. 

John Jay and Sarah Jay have decided to bring back a tradition from long before the troubles started: watching the movie Independence Day while commenting on it from the alien invaders' perspective.

6.

Treasury Dept Summer Intern Alexander Hamilton and _Adolescent Ward_ Nurse Eliza Schuyler go to a lake she knows, in a nearby park, to talk about maybes and therefores.

7\. 

Lewis takes advantage of his longtime friend-with-benefits' time off from work to visit her for the first time in nearly three months; Otter tells him not to bother packing any clothes.

8.

Pierre's busy and mostly content, but a tiny bit restless from being so far from his partners all summer, so today he sends them some arguably patriotic and inarguably NSFW selfies. 

9.

Friedrich gets those pictures and needs a drink and a diabolical scheme.

10.

Rev. Sam swallows down his trepidation and answers the woman's questions: he's asexual rather than sworn to celibacy, but if that's not a problem, yes, he would like to go see the fireworks with her this evening.

11.

John doesn't like the sound of the fireworks - they make him flinch and his shoulder twinge - so Missy closes all the windows, turns on the A/C, and walks him through creating a D&D character named Sabre the Doubtless. 

12.

Lafayette sends a letter to George Washington saying he and Adrienne have just decided they will be leaving America by New Year's at the latest, and to soften the blow he encloses a key to the front door of their home in France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- When I was at Mount Vernon, I also saw the key to the Bastille that Lafayette sent to Washington.
> 
> \- Both Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died on a July 4, far apart yet within hours of each other. One of them, unknowing, whispered that at least the other still lived. I think it was Adams re Jefferson. 
> 
> \- I know almost nothing about Coronation Street, but I know it's a long-running soap opera type show, and Prince Charles once awkwardly cameoed. 
> 
> \- I last brought up Lewis' fwb/Sacagawea's bff Otter quite a while ago, so as a refresher: in real life Otter Woman might have been Sacagawea's sister or possibly just her friend, definitely her co-wife, and in any case they were very close.
> 
> \- Guess what the last installment in this fic will be about!


	15. Vernon-Versary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the characters, this Vernon-Versary means Sharps Hour began one year ago.

_Thursday night, September 1_

"...And Jane's been reading our less-than-a-year-old baby 19th century novels," Martha "Martian" Manning told John about twenty minutes the hiccup-y video call. "But she does silly voices."

John smiled a little. On a better night he might have laughed, but it was something. "Educational. What about you?"

"18th century philosophy and rhetoric. It puts her right to sleep. When Frances is fussy, I start retreating and reading every treatise on the shelf. Branwell says that as Frances' biological father he has certain obligations, so he reads her picture books in an extremely somber tone. For balance. Why are you holding a stuffed animal?"

He'd held a plush manatee just like this one while laying out to Angelica what he'd been thinking when he shot himself exactly a year ago, almost to the hour. 

What he said was: "Why are you _not_ holding a stuffed animal?"

"Because all the ones in our house have drool on them. Duh." She didn't pursue the matter.

"SAY HI TO MARTIAN FOR ME!" Martha "Missy" Laurens yelled from the living room, just getting home from work. Earlier than usual. John suspected the reason she'd asked to leave early, and was grateful to not be alone in the apartment.

***

_Bedtime, Friday September 2_

"Still sorry I was late."

"Still telling you it's fine."

"Not sorry like guilt. Sorry like regret. Less time for this." Ned stopped mouthing at John's neck and jawline to help John out of his shirt, and gently pushed him to lie back on the bed. He'd already gotten naked the moment they'd locked the bedroom door. He liked being the one to undress John, and to do it in stages.

John pulled his boyfriend down, let himself be framed with strong limbs. He needed the warmth. "I'm alive." He didn't know how to express his full awe.

"I've noticed." Ned turned to address John's right shoulder and trace the whorls and jags of healed tissue with an index finger and the tip of his tongue. There wasn't much physical sensation. The point was the wholehearted, tender acceptance of it.

"I...um...I want you in me, please." They didn't always take the same roles, so it was important to be clear. Even if John got as shy and hesitant as he was now. 

"Can be arranged. Let me verify your aliveness a bit." With a crooked little grin (he was very iceberg-tip when it came to directly showing emotion), Ned traced John's increasingly less prominent ribs, his smile growing when John sighed and arched into the touch. He kissed John like he only had one shot at it, and mustn't throw it away.

Overthinking how to say what he wanted was a frequent problem. John was still getting used to wanting things at all - well, more than one thing in particular, the thing he was never supposed to want again and almost never did. He waited for a pause. "Could you maybe get up for a second so I can turn over? That's how I'd like to...go about it? Damn, sorry, I'm a mess. My pants are still on - that was obvious."

Meticulously unzipping John's jeans, Ned replied, "Mister Very Hot Mess, sex doesn't have to be eloquent. Just has to be safe and pleasureable."

"That was really eloquent." John lifted his hips to ease things along, though as per Ned's standing request he didn't assist with his hands. While he'd never have thought of this mild kink on his own (he was sure Lafayette and Adrienne would have considered them a cute but boring pair of lovers, to say nothing of Pierre), it was nice. Made him feel anticipated. Valuable.

Ned tended to drop his own clothes wherever, but he always folded every bit of John's before reverently placing it on John's immaculate nightstand. "Happens with you." Then he pulled down John's underwear with his teeth.

***

_Late Morning, Saturday September 3_

They woke to the sound of loud, oddly rhythmic knocking. And a female voice, just on the edge of scolding but not there yet. "Alexander."

More strange knocking. "Knocks in 5/4 time when he super wants attention." Ned mumbled into John's chest. They'd fallen asleep with John holding him.

"Alexander!"

"They are asking me to lead!"

"Look around. Isn't this enough?"

"Look, my QP and my BroTP asked me to put this party together, and if I'm going to put a party together for a perfect cinnamon roll who doesn't like surprise parties, I need to work out a game plan." 

"You don't need to wake them up yet. John's sister said that we can start by fixing up the living room and helping her arrange the menu, the venue, the seating...Like, they're trying to decide between ordering from a Thai or Lebanese restaurant..."

It was easier for John to find clothes and get decent quickly. He cracked the door open. "Hi. I got a text last night. Lewis can join us after all, but he's allergic to peanuts. Enough so that cross-contamination could be a problem. Given Thai cuisine, I'm nervous."

"Lebanese it is." Alexander crossed an item off a list. He had a clipboard and everything. 

Eliza was wearing a subtly shimmery yet comfortable-looking long-sleeved blue dress with tights. John normally paid little attention to what people wore unless it truly stood out, but he was always surprised on some level to see her not wearing scrubs. "Good morning, John. Colonel Neversleep and I can occupy ourselves if you're not ready to get up yet."

"Maybe I've always wanted to be a colonel and join the noble tradition of English spelling making no sense." 

Eliza laughed. "I'll take over unloading the dishwasher so Martha can get dressed properly. Much as I love her sushi pajamas." She gave Alexander a pat on the back before leaving his side.

"I love youuuuuuuu," Missy sang out.

Even with Eliza's change in ward assignment meaning Alexander couldn't have her as his nurse again, John had been nervous when they'd first started dating. They seemed happy, though, and Alexander and Thom were still doing well to boot. (Polly was amicably gone, and Antoinette less of a thing after they got to meet in person. Online didn't feel like enough anymore.) "Give me half an hour to pry a certain slug out of my bed. I have a question."

Alexander cocked his head to one side. His shirt shifted enough that John could see a fresh hickey. Eliza had picked him up from the train station yesterday evening. Alexander didn't like driving all the way from New York to Virginia by himself, out of fear of things like getting lost and a battle with the GPS resulting in falling into a river and being temporarily presumed dead by all his friends until he finally showed up. "Shoot. Oh shit, poor choice of words?"

"Don't worry about it. If Ned's your BFF, what non-romantic acronym is Lafayette to you?"

"He's my LAF. Stands for Loving Abundantly Friend. Means a friend who strains everyone else's credulity that your feelings are mutually platonic. I'm hoping it catches on." Alexander winked. "You go do what needs to be done. I'll try to be patient."

"Fuck you, Alexander Hamilton," Ned drawled affectionately.

"We discussed that! We agreed we don't have chemistry!"

John shut the door again. He could hear snickers from the other side. "Want to take a shower with me?" He was grateful that Missy let him have the master bedroom, her argument being that she knew holing himself up was sometimes what he needed, and she could handle that if he let her check in with him a few times a bad day. 

An arm encircled his waist. "Perfect."

***

_Around 1 PM_

"We brought lunch for us all," Lafayette announced upon entry. He set the picnic-style hamper on the counter. 

Loud cheers came from various parts of the apartment and balcony. Alexander had enlisted Ned to wind string lights on the railing with him, and they were probably catching up on the past few months. Missy and Eliza were hunting down various items in the kitchen cabinets. 

Adrienne put a bottle of sparkling cider next to it. Pierre had two bottles of Italian soda. Lafayette got overly anxious about his pregnant wife carrying heavy things, but she was accommodating about it. Especially when she had assistants who liked doing stuff for her. "You said Lewis is no longer drinking alcohol, and perhaps if we have festive drinks we can all enjoy and nobody feels left out."

Pierre, newly relieved of his burdens, reached out his arms. "Happy Vernon-Versary, John. Friedrich says so too." Pierre's boyfriend was on good terms with John, but Friedrich had very astutely asked if this gathering was only for people John felt emotionally intimate with. (Other than Washington and Angelica, because having his former psychiatrist and therapist here for this would be too awkward.) Upon receiving a nervous yes, he'd said there was no shame in honesty and he hoped the party went well.

John hugged him. "Thank you." 

"Thank. I brought card games and board games. Left them in the coat closet."

"Good idea. We could always use more to choose from."

Letting go, but meeting his eyes, Pierre added, "I went through the Apples to Apples set and took out any cards that might trigger you, Alexander, or Lewis. I thought about - thank - doing it with a Cards Against Humanity set, but I think there'd be about three cards left."

"In the least patronizing sense of the phrase: you're adorable." They might simply sit around and talk, but having games around as a backup reduced John's visions of everyone getting bored and making excuses to leave. Pierre had suggested the tactic, and he was grateful.

Adrienne kissed John on one cheek without expecting reciprocation, which she knew he found less overwhelming than the more traditional greeting. "My very same sentiments. Now I will sit and put up my feet, and someone will bring me ice water."

"Green!" Pierre scurried away.

"What a weekend this is already." Lafayette swept in for his hug. "Adrienne and I made a mix CD in case you wish for music. You may want to examine the track list."

***

_4:00 PM_

"Am I late?" Lewis asked as John took his coat and hung it up. Everyone else was draped over furniture in the living room and laughing at Missy's retelling of the time "Sabre the Doubtless" had a critical failure building a fire and the Dungeon Master decided this meant he'd accidentally constructed a fountain. 

John accepted a wrapped gift with a quiet "ooo". "You're exactly on time. The invitations are staggered by availability, how often I get to see people, what things we're planning to do, and so on. My therapist and I decided I would like that better than everyone showing up at once. So, like, Alexander and Eliza arrived in the morning to set up and hang out, and Ned came last night -"

It wasn't clear which of them noticed the slip first, but Lewis beat John to the change of subject and probably out-blushed him. "I think this celebration is a nice idea, and thank you for inviting me. Do you normally take shoes off, or do you wear them inside?"

***

_5:00 PM_

"HERCULES MULLIGAN!" John shouted when Missy let in the last of their guests. He wasn't drunk on anything but adrenaline and positive attention. It was his favorite kind of drunk, he'd discovered. Hercules waved and said some things to his hostess.

"Hercules Mulligan?" Ned asked. He'd been mostly alternating between John and Alexander's sides, plus a brief chat with Missy, but he'd also circulated and listened to John's friends with thoughtful interest. Right now he was perched on the edge of the sofa so he could politely watch a married couple competitively cuddling a college junior. Lafayette made the rounds clinging to John or Alexander, or John and Alexander, a few times already. Adrienne mostly stayed put and kept her substitute French boy in her clutches.

"It's a good name," Adrienne said. "This from an Adrienne de Lafayette." 

Lafayette beamed. "Hello, Hercules! I have heard many things about you! Adri, if my last name were hideous, would you have been willing to take it?"

Without missing a beat, she answered, "No, but I'd still have taken you." 

"I didn't know you were close," Eliza said to John. Alexander was in the bathroom, so she was keeping an eye on his blood orange soda on the edge of the coffee table. Missy had volunteered to wash all the glasses rather than resort to wasteful plastic cups for a party of only ten people. Eliza seemed partial to the grapefruit flavor. John thought it was too bitter.

"He's our DM." At Eliza's polite look of confusion, John clarified, "Missy got me in on the evening-and-night-shift Dungeons and Dragons club. They call it the Duskling Fellowship. You can only join if you work in Vernon First Floor Men's Ward after dark, or are dating or related to a member. It's also got Cato and Israel. Phyllis used to be in it, but she's too busy, so I was her replacement. Betsy tried but wasn't into it. York's committed to fantasy football instead. Button hastily refused the invitation."

"Last summer I expanded into making LARP costumes too, so I got pulled into that world," Hercules explained. "Congratulations, John. Don't discount your achievement. Pound it?"

John pounded the offered fist. "Now that you're here, we can start ordering food."

Alexander emerged from the hall bathroom. "I've calculated the best way for us to order and pay efficiently and fairly. Now, there is a stack of menus on the weird standalone counter island thing in the kitchen. We should tip generously because it's a busy Saturday night and we're not bad people. Also..."

As Alexander continued to address the group, Pierre sat up and stage-whispered, "Hercules, when you have time, I want to talk to you about a Regency suit. With coattails and frilly sleeves."

Hercules edged closer to him. "Oh? Special event?"

"You could say that," Lafayette replied. Then he flicked Pierre's ear. "Now did we say you could move, _mon petit_?"

"Why don't I pour you a drink and we can introduce ourselves?" Ned asked, leading Hercules away. 

"Bring back the menus," Alexander told them. "Lewis, are you also allergic to pine nuts or chickpeas?"

Lewis seemed started at being addressed. "Uh, no. Just peanuts. And I have an epipen in my coat pocket. Thanks." He'd been examining the childhood photos of the two siblings - only the two siblings, and only these two siblings - Missy had framed and hung on the wall. Missy had a picture of their mother and their late maternal grandmother in her room, and John sought it out when he felt like it. 

Missy took up the seat next to John. She leaned her head on his shoulder and quietly said, in Spanish, _"You are actually doing well, right? It isn't an act, right? Tell me if it's an act."_

 _"I'm not pretending."_ John switched to English. "You know, I didn't used to like eggplant, but Ned had me try a dish this place does with it."

***  
_6:48 PM_

John looked over at Lewis in the corner of the room and got up to join him. "Are you okay?"

"I am. I'm observing. It's almost my Vernon-Versary too, and...it's nice to see you all." Lewis had a mug of iced sparkling cider in one hand and was carefully eating a foil-wrapped shwarma with the other. "I think your friends would enjoy seeing the thing I brought you."

"I was thinking of opening it after I make the little speech I'm going to make in a few minutes."

***

_7:00 PM_

_Thank you to Lafayette for getting me to Vernon, and to Adrienne for supporting his efforts and making me feel less alone. Thank you to Alexander for getting me _through_ Vernon, especially those first few days. Thank you to Pierre for your camaraderie and cheer during all that time. Thank you to Hercules for sitting with me as I cried, and to Eliza for being vulnerable in exchange for me opening up. Thank you to Lewis for giving me something to look forward to and build upon once I left Vernon. Thank you to Missy for being strong enough to leave me be when I had far too much to process already, but then brave enough to reconnect when I was ready. And thank you to Ned for...for adding to my life in ways I'd never had or dared to look for. _

 

***

_7:10_

"It's an advance copy," Lewis explained, taking it from John's limp hands to hold up for the others to see. "Your name won't be on the cover or any promotional information, because and only because you requested that, but if you look at the acknowledgments it says I could never have finished _O the Bay! (The Precious Wildlife of the Chesapeake, From Environment to Anatomy)_ without my astoundingly capable and empathetic assistant."

Missy knew best of all how important this was. She flipped through it and found a section with both photos and sketches of reptiles and amphibians. "Oh, Jack." 

"I need to go breathe on the balcony for a moment. Alone. It's good. It's just a lot." Nobody followed him, and he appreciated that.

***

_7:17_

The book was being circulated around despite the danger of baklava crumbs and drips of pistachio-flavored or rose-flavored ice cream. John didn't care about that. Hercules joked that the uneven distribution of drawing skills meant they shouldn't play Pictionary.

John suggested they play Apples to Apples, since Pierre went to such effort, and also because he hadn't played it since Martian's good-luck-in-England party his freshman year of college. He wanted to reclaim that memory. Lewis needed help understanding the rules at first. He also ended up winning second place.

***

_9:38_

"...Understandable, nothing wrong with that. But you're not gonna..."

"Of course not. Is it that obvious?"

"Only because I was looking. I'm always looking. Not for my sake, to be clear."

"From what I've seen, you don't suffer from insecurity in that regard."

John tapped on the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. "Hey, Ned, I know you need to go soon. Just reminding you that you left your phone charger next to my bed."

"Thank you for the reminder. Talk to you later, Lewis. Thank you for bringing the book." Ned pulled John in and kissed him with far greater intensity than he usually did in front of other people, even if it was to say goodbye. What was that about?

Once he was alone on the balcony, John asked Lewis, "Aren't you cold without your coat on?"

"Sometimes I like being cold for a few minutes." Lewis coughed. "I should probably go, too. Again, thank you for inviting me. Things like this are important for the hope that they provide."

"Definitely. See you on Monday. I need to meet Alexander inside..."

Lewis shoved his hands in his pants pockets like he had to keep them there against their will. "You know you're never going to always be happy. But I hope you're always content. Satisfied. May you always be satisfied."

All John got from Ned later about that conversation came in a text message a few days late: _Hadn't heard of Aromantic Demi-Pansexual. Makes Homoflexible sound mainstream tbh. Also I love you._

***

_11:50_

"You're sleepy? Already?"

"Hush and climb into bed with me. I'm cold. Not my fault you woke me up this morning, or that a great day is exhausting too, just differently."

Alexander obligingly curled up beside him under the fluffy comforter. They had no interested in "sleeping together", but they enjoyed literally sleeping together when they were sharing lodgings anyway. "You, Pierre, and Lafayette need to come visit me in New York like you promised. Before Lafayette leaves the country. You can sleep in my bed and those two can set up a tent on the floor." 

"I need to meet Thom, too." John took a sip of water and lay back down. "What time do you have to be at the station tomorrow?"

"Not until nine, and thanks to you living closer than Eliza does, that gives us a whole other hour to sleep. And I've done all my work already."

"Of course you have."

"Thom and Eliza haven't physically met yet, but they get along great when they talk. Usually we put on video and instant message at the same time, so that I don't have to keep interpreting. Unless Thom wants to practice lipreading. Then he's the only one who types." Alexander fiddled with the blankets to untwist them. "She's fine with me keeping my pre existing relationships as long as she gets to know them. She might potentially be fine with me adding someone new, as long as she gets to know them _first_. Me getting into random hookups would be upsetting. I don't do that anymore anyway. Not since my mania got under better control and I realized it isn't my real style."

"Polyfidelity, right?"

"Ask me when I'm not sleepy." Alexander chuckled at his own hypocrisy. "Did I seem manic today? Hercules politely asked."

"No. You were excited."

"How'd you know?"

"You were loose and open. When you're manic you're tense and frantic underneath, even if pretty much everyone doesn't notice."

"See, that's basically what Eliza said. Now I know she and I are well-matched."

"Awesome. Now let me sleep."

"One more thing - I forgot to tell you that this is my favorite holiday, I think."

John turned to face Alexander, even though he couldn't really make out any facial expressions in the dim light that came through the curtains. "Why?"

"It's that day that brought me you."

One thing that hadn't changed was John's inability to directly reply to such bare sincerity. "Happy Vernon-Versary."

"Raise a glass to freedom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a more explicit idea of the topic Ned and Lewis were discussing, check out "Midnight Blues", a one-shot later in this series. If you are indifferent, consider checking it out anyway, because I'm proud of it. :P


End file.
